Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student

Chapters

2. Here and There
3. Far From Home
4. Layers Beneath Layers
5. A Whole New World
7. First Impressions
8. Unnatural Commerce
9. Sweetie's First Test
10. Ollivander's Unexpected Surprise
11. Starlight Starbright
12. Guardians
13. Somepony to Watch Over Me
14. Home Sweet Dormitory
15. Bump in the Night
16. Cold Start
17. Adaptation
18. Something Wicked
19. Ex Owl Post Facto
1. Sending Day
6. Formal Dining

2. Here and There

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Here and There

There were certain wizards who groomed their fearsome reputations like one might attempt to grow a prize Rampaging Rosebush, with plenty of care and dragon dung to bring out every tiny fleck of aggressiveness. Theodore Nott knew how to handle those fools, much like he had used attention and praise to handle Gilderoy Lockhart.

Then there were those wizards who preferred to let their reputations follow them, much like bloody footprints. They deserved a much more cautious approach. Even the most dangerous of them, He Who Shall Not Be Named, was susceptible to the ordinary, the plain, the students who expressed their loyalty and kept to it, but not strong enough to draw attention, and not weak enough to be despised. There had been enough wizards grabbing for any scraps of power he left behind to camouflage the younger Nott’s quiet quest for anonymity, and most of them, students or adults, had paid the price for their ambition. Even Theodore’s own father, who had been wounded severely in the recent fighting and was expected to die at any time, would have been quick to put both of his sons to gruesome deaths in order to advance the slightest as a Death Eater.

Theodore did not mourn the inevitable loss of his father. The old man had set his path, and tried to drag his children down it with him. For the last several months, Uncle Augustus Lake had provided a home to the two boys far better than anything the senior Nott had done. As far as Theodore was concerned, the old man was dead already.

Worse, far worse was the way Theodore had been betrayed for his acts of loyalty. From his very first days in Hogwarts, the darker side of the wizarding world had an endless hunger for knowledge about The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter. Severus Snape had been the perfect cut-out for passing that information back to his father and the rest of the Death Eaters without Theodore revealing himself as the source. Since Potions had been the best of Theodore’s classes, that left him with the perfect excuse to stay behind and leave notes or key phrases to be passed along and raise Snape’s standing with his peers. The potionmaster proved to be a brutal taskmaster, unforgiving of the slightest mistake, but a genius forced into a position considerably below his abilities. For several years, he had been the closest thing Theodore had to a friend.

Theodore had no friends anymore, and barely any family. He would not admit it, but he had never been close to his younger brother, Wycliffe Nott, who had killed his mother by being born, and his father, who had seemed to blame both boys equally for the loss. Even his classmates in Slytherin would have turned on him in a minute if they knew about the Muggles in his family tree, and He Who Shall Not Be Named would have killed him just for the amusement, but Snape… cared, and for that, he too had been killed in the end.

Then, when all of the death and destruction was over and the halls of Hogwarts were filled with mourning, the terrible truth came out. Snape’s true loyalty. His betrayal. The one human that Theodore had trusted, had been working for Dumbledore the whole time.

Theodore would never be deceived again by a false friendship.

The Death Eaters had fawned and cowered to slither up to the Dark Lord, simpering sycophants and pretentious narcissists all. The ones who survived the attack on Hogwarts had been dragged before the Wizengamot, with all of their false bravado and arrogant posturing transformed into the fear of cowards.

Although Theodore was standing outside the chill ironbound doors of the ancient court, he did not have the cold knot of fear in his gut that the rest of the surviving Death Eaters must have felt when they faced their trials. Any ties he had to their crimes had died with Severus Snape. His path now was not the path of senseless destruction or futile revenge, but of cold, hard facts. Theodore originally wanted to return to Hogwarts for his last interrupted year of study before facing the world, because an Outstanding on his N.E.W.T. exams would have been both a testament to Severus Snape’s teaching and a ticket into the business of making potions, a wedge of influence able to force his way into the secret recipes and rituals that even Professor Snape had not known.

It would have been a difficult year for Theodore to say the least, particularly at Hogwarts with Wycliffe. Although they had differences as brothers, his father had made no bones about Theodore standing behind the quiet child and supporting him with every fibre of his being. The old man was a rigid taskmaster, and expected the same behavior from both of his children, no matter how difficult the job.

Death would not change that heavy burden, as it had not changed when Theodore’s mother had passed away in childbirth, or when the elder Nott had been mortally wounded during the battle at Hogwarts. Theodore never had been able to treat death as a stranger, or vengeance as a friend. Every time he saw Wycliffe, he could see his mother, and it was a constant battle not to hold his brother responsible for her death. After all, there was nothing the infant could have done, and to hate Wycliffe for a tragic act of fate would have been immature.

Theodore had grown up far too fast after his mother had passed away. The emotions tearing him apart had been too strong, and the only way he could survive that trying time was to build a thick callus over his own heart. It had just been the three of them, alone in the big house with only the servants. Death had changed Theodore Nott again after the Battle of Hogwarts, although not enough that the sight of so many bodies had left him unmoved.

Teachers. Students. None of them were his responsibility, because Theodore had aimed his spells well during the battle. Well, several of the gigantic acromantia had gotten smashed into bloody pulp, but the noxious vermin did not count. Much the same could be said about any abominations from the Dark Forest that had been likewise eliminated. They were supposed to be allies in the fight, but Theodore had been fighting for survival, and refused to consider anything with that many claws and teeth anything but a target.

He was glad his little brother had been spared the sight. Wycliffe had always seemed such a small and frail boy behind his thick glasses, a shadow who lurked around the edge of his vision. Every time Theodore had returned to his cold and nearly empty home, the boy seemed more like a stranger than his blood, and to share Hogwarts with him this year would have been the most painful but necessary task he had been dreading.

Then had come the offer which brought him to this door. Written in a flowing script on flawless parchment which was obviously not of this world, the simple golden letters had spelled out an opportunity he could not turn down. Why exactly the offer had been made to him was a mystery, but he could no more have refused it than he could have moved the stars in the sky.

Opportunity was knocking, after all.

“Mister Nott? Celestia has arrived, and they are nearly ready for you now.” The elderly witch who spoke was obviously one of the Wizengamot from her plum-colored robe with the silver ‘W’ inscribed on the breast and the look of perpetual suspicion on her thin face. Her voice shook Theodore out of his uncomfortable thoughts and into action. After all, his years in school were over now, and a new chapter was opening in his life. He might never hear the familiar professor again, or any of the Hogwarts teachers after this project was over. It triggered an uncomfortable impulse in Theodore, and he reached out with one hand to catch the elderly witch just above the elbow and hold her arm before she could open the door.

“Professor Vector,” he asked, trying to find the words as fast as his mouth was moving, “can you watch Wycliffe for me while I’m away?”

Septima Vector turned slowly back to face him and waited until he removed his hand from her elbow. She spoke in the short, precise enunciation that had never wavered, not even in the very last portion of her class when the rest of the class was drooping over their arithmancy examples. “Mister Nott. If your brother is sorted into Ravenclaw, I assure you, our house prefect will make his time at Hogwarts as pleasant as possible.”

“And if he’s not?” continued Theodore in an unpracticed rush. “All of my family has been in Slytherin, and I won’t be there to protect him.”

The words struck home harder than Theodore had anticipated. He had seen Professor Vector defend Hogwarts with every fibre of her being, and yet there had been too many students she had failed to save. Her lips drew into thin lines of tension, but a flicker of empathy lit her dark green eyes when she looked back, as if she knew how close Theodore’s father was to death also, and the distinct possibility that she might have personally reflected the old man’s lethal spell back into him that deadly night.

“That,” said Professor Vector in a remarkably calm voice, “will be up to his house. However, I will speak to Horace on your behalf. I can assure you, Minerva McGonagall will not permit any violence or harassment against any student in the school, no matter their placement, or family history.”

“How many?” asked Theodore, feeling awkward due to the fact that over the six years he had been in Hogwarts, he had not spoken this many personal words to his arithmancy teacher, ever. “How many students are coming back?”

“Far too few.” A twinge of pain caused the muscles in her wrinkled cheek to twitch, and Theodore was abruptly reminded of just how old the teacher had become in just the last year. “Without Albus, and with all that has happened there over the last year, I suppose we should be grateful Hogwarts is continuing at all. In any event, your brother will be safe as humanly possible. You have my word on it. And with that, we should be getting along. The Wizengamot does not like to wait. Come along, and bring your things.”

At that, the professor straightened her thin shoulders and opened the door, walking into the cavernous room with Theodore Nott trailing along behind.

- Ω - -

The mirror portal that Twilight Sparkle used to visit her friends in the other world was a marvel of technological and thaumaturgical science. There were enough widgets and gadgets on it to make Sweetie Belle’s eyes water, and her horn just itched to see what parts did what. It was totally unfair that she was not permitted to touch any part of it, or be in the same room without Twilight present. Just in case of accidents. Or exploratory impulses.

This silver mirror standing in the Crystal Empire’s castle was far different. It was a featureless expanse of perfect reflection, embossed around the edges with silver curlique hearts and flowers. Although it was starkly simple without a widget or even a gizmo, the same theory of interleaved dimensional theory drove it to connect to a counterpoint anchor in another dimension, a prime example of the influence of Starswirl the Bearded in all schools of powerful magic.

Sweetie Belle did not know where or how the mirror came to be here. Only that it had been checked by Starswirl himself and deemed stable for the transportation services it would provide for the two exchange students, both herself and the pony from the other dimension where she was going. The actual details of Sweetie’s destination had been remarkably vague, although Princess Twilight Sparkle had been more than happy to pass along her experiences in various other exotic places and offer encouragement for the exciting adventure Sweetie was about to take.

The longer she looked at the nervous Sweetie Belle in the mirror, the more uncertain this Sweetie became.

The tall form of Princess Celestia to her side was the only other pony in the room. Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and the rest of her family and friends were being kept out to prevent the ‘accidents’ during transportation that were certain to happen in their presence. With only one large white princess and one small white unicorn to reflect, the crystal facets of the room behind her showed a confused mix of the two of them, from fractions of a small alicorn with a pensive expression of nervousness to a segmented tall unicorn princess somehow shadowing Sweetie Belle’s future, complete with shimmering mane and golden tiara.

Their mismatched images matched Sweetie Belle’s scattered thoughts far too well. It had been a busy few weeks up to this point, with hustle and bustle and going-away parties and her sister Rarity’s tendency to burst into tears at the slightest provocation. There had been no problem packing for the trip, because the only thing on Sweetie Belle’s back was a pair of small saddlebags. They were not even completely full, despite Rarity’s constant efforts to add a few pairs of socks or a warm cloak in case Hogwarts was chilly. In fact, having no luggage other than her saddlebags was probably for the best since Sweetie Belle really expected Rarity to find some way to stow away for the trip, just to keep watch over her little sister. And to be perfectly honest, despite the ways Sweetie complained about having her older sister fuss and worry over her, it was nice. Annoying at times, but a niceness that she was going to miss terribly over the next year.

“Are you nervous, Sweetie Belle?” Princess Celestia’s voice was calm and relaxed, somehow passing those traits on to the slightly tense and barely nervous young unicorn shifting her weight while waiting with her lumpy saddlebags. “I can assure you, there is nothing to worry about.”

“I know. I trust you, Princess. It’s just…” Sweetie Belle glanced back and forth before lowering her voice to a near whisper. “I think I know how Twilight felt when you sent her to save your sister.”

Celestia laughed, a long and carefree sound that echoed through the high ceilings of the crystal room. It was the way a castle made out of rainbow crystals should feel like, instead of the little flickers Sweetie had caught out of the corner of her eyes of glittering servants shying at the slightest noise or veering away from small shadows.

At times, it seemed as if there was more darkness in the Crystal Empire than Cadence could clear away over her long life. Those shadows had amazing persistence considering that King Sombra had been defeated over two years ago, and then promptly defeated again by Twilight Sparkle and her friends when he returned. Even the crystal foals nearly her own age had a tension to their expressions and nervous twitches that made her think the defeated king was about to step out from around the corner for a third time and send them all back to the crystal mines, or cast the entire empire into shadow for a thousand years again.

The Crusaders hadn’t even been able to get one young crystal pony a cutie mark since they had arrived yesterday.

The tall form of Celestia bent down low so she could look Sweetie Belle in the eyes and give her a motherly nuzzle around one ear. “There are perfectly good reasons for sending you to Hogwarts school without spending a lot of time in preparation. First, you are young, and it is best for you to view this new world without the preconceptions or expectations we would push on you. The young have a precious gift of innocence, and there are times when that gift is the greatest thing you can bring to a new place. It has been many, many years since Luna and I have walked the halls of Hogwarts and mingled amongst the students. I’m certain both the school and the students have changed far beyond our wildest dreams.”

“Changed for the better, right?” Sweetie Belle was looking up at Celestia’s calm face when she asked the question or she would have missed the tiny twitch around the corner of one eye that preceded her warm smile.

“The world you are about to visit is much like our own. There are forces for good and bad, and the progress that good makes can be erratic at times. You will learn in everything you do there, the schoolwork, the friends that you meet, and even from those who oppose you. It is a culture well worth learning, and sometimes the best way of learning from a world this large is to immerse yourself totally into it, taking only what you need from here.”

“I suppose,” said Sweetie, shifting her weight until the sound of the gems packed in her saddlebags made little clinking noises against the magic book. “And this way I can buy any clothes I need there instead of having my sister send a wagon full of dresses.”

“Indeed.” Celestia’s golden magic produced a small key and tucked it into Sweetie’s lumpy saddlebags, closing the flap afterward. “I shall even send you our vault key for Gringotts, the local bank, if you should need to store your excess or retrieve some small amount of money for expenses.”

“Thank you, Princess.” Sweetie Belle smiled, or at least tried to, and all the reflected Sweeties she could see in the sparkling walls and mirror smiled too. “Do you think, while I’m there, that is. That I can help any ponies get their cutie marks in this… Hogwarts?”

“I’m sure you will help many new friends find their special talents,” said Celestia. “And when you return, I will want to hear all about your adventures.” The saddlebag over Sweetie’s rump began to buzz, and Celestia giggled. “Your friends are already writing you letters. I may have to get you a second book when you return for Winter break.”

“Or a third. Apple Bloom kinda writes big loopy letters.” Sweetie took a deep breath and looked at her reflection in the mirror. A frightened young unicorn looked back, but not quite as frightened as she looked before, with the moral support of a thousand Sweeties reflected in the facets of the room around her.

“Shall we?” Celestia stepped forward through the portal with Sweetie at her side into—

The world swam, swirling and spinning around Sweetie Belle like she was caught in a twisty tornado or one of Rainbow Dash’s whirlwinds. Thankfully, it was fairly brief, and if she had been carrying the amount of luggage Rarity had tried to press on her, she most likely would have been squished by flying freight, but a few moments later she staggered out onto a hard, grey granite floor.

And looked up.

At this point, it is only fair to the reader to expand upon the topic of unicorn magic as opposed to the more widely known wizard magic. As foals, infant unicorns display abilities at will that much older adults take years to master. After all, everypony knows it takes many months of intensive study and a complicated spell to walk through a wall or teleport. The thing is, infants do not know how impossible it is to do the things they do at that age. Many a mother pony has returned to the baby’s room to find their pegasus foal walking on the ceiling, or an earth pony foal deep in the jungle which used to be a simple potted plant, or a unicorn… well, let us just say unicorn foals have some of the strangest bursts of youthful creativity.

Much like Starswirl the Bearded or Princess Twilight Sparkle, Sweetie Belle was very young at heart, with a misplaced sense of what could not be done.

So picture a shy young unicorn, standing in the middle of fifty middle-aged to elderly human witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, all of whom are wearing various expressions of disapproval over the special dispensation they had just made to allow a portal to be opened into another world. At the side of this young unicorn stands a tall human woman of radiant beauty, dressed in flowing silks shaded from pastel blues to soft pinks, where just moments ago Sweetie Belle had seen the alicorn Princess Celestia.

Realize also that passage through a dimensional portal leaves a certain amount of leftover magic floating around, much like a dense cloud of petrol vapor seeking a spark.

Sweetie Belle’s magic sparked.

And when the blinding flash of magic was over, a very young girl sat stunned on the floor, with a cascade of flowing pink and light purple hair flowing down her back providing her only clothing.

Author's Note

Those poor, poor, elderly members of the Wizengamot...

3. Far From Home

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Far From Home

Sweetie Belle was… a lot of things. Nervous, of course. She had been nervous about the trip before, of course. And embarrassed, too. With all the eyes staring at her around the room, she was more embarrassed than when Rarity caught her and Rumble in a broom closet, trying to figure out why his glow-in-the-dark watch wasn’t. Naked also, which she was perfectly used to when covered in her pony coat, and unused to with the very thin and almost hairless human skin she was wearing now. And cold, which only made sense.

But most of all, she was aware that she was an exchange student, and as such, she was an ambassador of sorts from Equestria to here. Ambassadors did not curl up on the floor with their hands over their eyes and whimper. They stood tall, just like Princess Celestia in her human form, who stood by her side with a proud smile meant for her and only her.

The woman standing to her other side was very much not smiling. She was a tall, thin human, with a pointed hat that only made her look taller, and a complete collection of clothes in shades of black and more black, which contrasted greatly with Celestia’s flowing pale blue and vibrant pink silks. Instead of a smile, the woman wore an expression much like Mayor Mare looked whenever the Crusaders broke something in a particularly innovative fashion, most often with fire. And yet there was something in the woman’s blue eyes that bespoke of a time long ago when she too had been covered in tree sap while trying to find her special talent. A membership in the sisterhood of disaster, so to speak, which surprisingly enough matched a few sparks in Celestia’s soft violet eyes too.

It was a confusing situation, but made Sweetie’s heart slow its frantic pounding with the additional thought that if she had brought Rarity along, her sister would have had a fit over the woman’s drab clothes, or twice the angst and agony if she had seen the elderly humans around her in the large room wearing robes in such a revolting color of puce. Sweetie knew better than to bring any of those clothes back through the portal with her, or Rarity would come storming back through with intent. And fire.

There was certainly a storm brewing in the crowd of elderly humans watching her now. They had begun to shout and point fingers almost immediately when she had appeared, and the volume and the hand-waving continued to grow until Sweetie wished Princess Celestia would tell them to be quiet. Then again, Celestia was in somepony else’s country, so ordering them to be quiet would probably not work.

The older lady bent over and removed a shawl from her thin shoulders, draping it across Sweetie’s bare and slightly chilly front. “My word,” she said in a low tone of voice that the squabbing humans most likely were not able to hear. “I haven’t seen them in such a tizzy since Hagrid started school. Hold still for a moment.”

The woman produced a short stick, more like a twig, and made a series of short swishes in midair that corresponded with the shawl transforming into an ensemble of clothes on Sweetie’s body, although her odd feet with the stubby little ‘toes’ on them remained bare. An additional twitch of the stick made socks, then shoes to cover them up, and one long swish of the stick made her small saddlebag twist and nestle onto Sweetie’s back, changing colors until it matched the same dull shade of black as the rest of her magical clothes and settling in place with the quiet clink of shifting gems. The outfit was warm and welcome in the chilly room, although the clothes pinched in awkward spots on her new human body.

“Thank you, Headmistress McGonagall.” Princess Celestia’s smile was unchanging, as eternal as the Sun Princess and bright enough to make even the dismal black of the woman’s clothes seem to take life. “So nice to finally meet you in person. Sweetie Belle, this is Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Headmistress McGonagall, this is your new student, Sweetie Belle, and I am Celestia.”

Sweetie could see the elderly woman’s eyes momentarily dart to the top of Celestia’s head where a thin golden tiara rested, then back down to look the princess straight in the eyes. Despite many ponies finding such directness in confronting Princess Celestia to be uncomfortable, the human had no such reluctance, and kept her calm demeanor as if meeting a princess from another world who wished to downplay her title was an everyday occasion.

“Thank you, Celestia,” said McGonagall with a short nod of her head that made the pointed tip of her hat bob. “I have to admit, there were some things missing in your correspondence—”

“Entirely my fault,” said Celestia, who reached out and held McGonagall’s hand. “Do take good care of Sweetie Belle for me, please. Princess Twilight says great things about her. I’m certain she will do your school proud.”

“Excuse me,” said Sweetie, who had been a little distracted from the conversation by the room’s noisy occupants around them, who seemed more like an audience around a stage than any sort of school room that she had seen before. “Are those the other students? And do they shout like that all the time?”

She had wanted to ask why they all seemed to be so old, with tufts of grey hair and wrinkles peeking out from where their puce robes and pointed hats did not cover. It did not seem to be a very tactful question, reinforced by the humorous response of Headmaster McGonagall snorting back a quick laugh with a hidden smile.

“No, Miss Belle. Those witches and wizards are members of the Wizengamot. They are responsible for all the laws our wizarding world live under. Do you have anything like that in Equestria?”

Sweetie Belle looked up at the squabbling figures around her, at least fifty of them scattered across several benches and arguing at the top of their lungs. “Just Princess Twilight and her friends, and they don’t shout at each other unless they really need to.”

“Order!” barked a pudgy man seated about center in the collection of benches. He rapped a short stick on the table, which made a loud banging noise that did not lower the sound level at all, even after he repeated his call and banged on the table several times.

Sweetie Belle could feel Celestia’s gentle touch on her back, urging her to stand straight on her hind feet, which she managed after a few false starts and some swaying. Standing up like that was a lot like going to Apple Bloom’s dance lessons only without the tiny pink cloth shoes. The humans seemed to do this balancing act instinctively, so she was probably going to have to get used to it. A little careful checking revealed her horn was gone too, which did not panic her very much since Headmaster McGonagall had used magic to make clothes appear out of nothing, so humans used those little sticks like unicorns used horns.

When in Roam, I suppose.

Celestia took her position so close to Sweetie’s side that the flowing pastel cloth of her gown drifted across her skirted knees, while the headmaster for the school stood on Sweetie’s other side. They both simply stood and watched the shouting elderly wizards and witches, which was what human unicorns must have been called here. Eventually, the members of the Wizengamot began to look back, partially because of the pudgy man hammering his wand against the table, and presumably a little to look at the odd student standing between two tall teachers.

“Gentlewizards. GENTLEWIZARDS!” bellowed the man between loud thuds of his wand until the noise died down into a lot of wide-eyed stares at Sweetie and one female human somewhere back in the crowd who said “Dawwww,” before quickly shutting her mouth and trying not to look as if she said anything.

“Did I do something wrong?” asked Sweetie Belle in a nervous voice that shifted unexpectedly into a near squeak, which seemed to cause one elderly wizard in the back of the group to clutch his chest and sit down abruptly.

“That is what we are to determine,” said the pudgy wizard in a near growl. “My name is Balthasar Bulstrode, and I am the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. You are Miss Celestia, I presume? The letter we received was remarkably short on specifics. Are you an instructor at your school?”

“A founder of several, in fact, and semi-retired now,” said Princess Celestia in a remarkable display of understatement. “Teaching is such a joy, but many times I find I learn as much from my students as they do from me. It helps me feel what it was like to be young at times,” she admitted.

“Very well, then.” Balthasar Bulstrode checked a sheaf of papers sitting in front of him. “This would be your student, Sweetie Belle? A unicorn?”

Sweetie nodded, because she was afraid to squeak again. Scootaloo always said she sounded like Squeaky Belle when she got nervous, while Apple Bloom just said she needed to calm down and not take things so personal. Thinking about her friends made Sweetie feel at least a little more confident, and she straightened up to look the chubby wizard in the eyes.

“Headmistress McGonagall,” said Bulstrode in a low voice on the edge of thundering, “You said everything about this student exchange was completely ordinary. What is the meaning of this?”

“For Hogwarts, this is ordinary,” said the slim woman to Sweetie’s side. “All twelve of the school governors have approved the transfer, including the heads of each House. I believe all of our paperwork is in order, so if you will approve the school’s request, my student and I can be on our way back to Hogwarts.”

“Not so fast.” Mister Bulstrode puffed up a lot like a frog who was trying to croak, completely filling the large chair he was occupying. “I don’t see how we can approve this student for admission into our school. She was clearly a unicorn when she came through the portal. A wizard or witch must have a wand, and since Clause Three of the Code of Wand Use prohibits the use of wands by non-humans, she is obviously ineligible.”

There were a number of ‘here-here’ and ‘indeeds’ in the crowd, along with some turned-up noses, while most of the witches and wizards seemed reluctant to say anything. Headmaster McGonagall had no such hesitation and took one step forward.

“Mister Bulstrode, you are correct in your interpretation of the law. ‘No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand.’ The Code is quite clear.” The tall witch turned to Sweetie Belle with a twinkle in her eye. “Therefore I see no problem here at all.”

The shouting began among the wizards at once, stopping only when Bulstrode hammered on his table again. “You saw the creature when she came through the portal,” he blustered. “She’s a unicorn!”

“Really?” Headmaster McGonagall looked Sweetie Belle over from top to bottom and put a hand on her shoulder before turning back to address the Wizengamot again. “You did pass your class in the care of magical creatures, Mister Bulstrode, so you can accurately identify a unicorn, correct?” Sweetie Belle was about to speak up about how she really was a unicorn when she felt McGonagall’s thin fingers tighten on her shoulder.

Balthasar Bulstrode swelled up like a bullfrog again and fairly spat, “Just because she can appear to be a human does not mean—”

Then the most peculiar thing happened. Headmistress McGonagall shrank, and in less time that it took to blink twice, had turned into a short-haired grey cat with thin black stripes, or perhaps a black cat with a number of large grey stripes, it was rather difficult to tell which. The cat proceeded to stride deliberately in front of Sweetie Belle’s feet and sat down, facing the fat man who appeared to be slowly suffocating by way of turning crimson. Sweetie wanted to pick her up, but her sister Rarity’s cat Opalescence had trained her well, so she sat down with Celestia to pet the cat/headmistress while waiting.

“Point of order,” called one of the other wizards, a mousy-looking man with very small, green spectacles. “A simple majority vote of the Wizengamot is all that is needed to pass this on. Whether the unicorn can turn into a human, or if this… Sweetie Belle, was it?”

For such a tall and striking woman, Princess Celestia seemed to have faded into the background to the point where nohuman in the Wizengamot was even looking at her. Instead, they were all looking at Sweetie Belle, who silently nodded.

The man continued, “Or if a human can turn into a unicorn, the result is still the same. We’ve had students at Hogwarts who have been part this and that for centuries. Even one of the professors has some goblin ancestry, if I recall. The key is that they are human, and therefore eligible to be schooled. The debate on if any relaxation of Clause Three is warranted due to the meritorious actions of various non-humans who took part in the battle against—” there was a fractional hesitation “—Voldemort is a separate issue. The case here appears simple. Since Sweetie Belle is in a human form, and has been approved by the Governors and Headmistress of the school, she should be granted the rights and privileges of a student for this limited time. Since all appropriate authorities of the school have already unanimously approved the transfers, I see no reason why we cannot proceed to a vote.”

“I hereby second the motion,” said an elderly witch in short, clipped words.

“This is an outrage!” The rest of the Wizengamot burst into furious discussion as Bulstrode shouted further, although it became quite difficult to hear him. Sweetie could hear the repetition of the word ‘travesty’ several times, and several of the humans even seemed close to coming to blows over their arguments. If this was the way the humans determined their laws, Sweetie was quite content to keep Equestria’s current system of princesses, despite the occasional heavenly hiccup.

After a long time which she spent petting the Headmistress/cat with Celestia silently by her side, the humans settled down and voted by raising their wands. It was close, closer than Sweetie was comfortable with, but she was not too nervous. When the chubby man hammered the Wizengamot back into order, the two Equestrians stood back up and brushed off any loose cat hairs, although McGonagall remained sitting on the floor, washing diligently behind one ear.

“Very well,” growled Bulstrode. “I will accede to the will of the Wizengamot, but we will be watching your student very closely, Headmistress.”

There was a sense of motion and the slender witch was standing by Sweetie again, nodding at Bulstrode. In no time at all, Sweetie found herself trying to say goodbye to Princess Celestia, which apparently involved a handshake and a few moments of awkward finger-wiggling until they could figure out just which one went where.

“You were both right.” Sweetie beamed. “I’m so glad I trusted you.”

“I’m glad we both trusted each other.” Celestia reached down and picked up Sweetie’s knapsack from where she had dropped it in order to pet the headmistress, and held it during the several attempts it took Sweetie to put it back on. “Now go on, pay attention to your teachers, and make friends. Before you know it, you’ll be back in Ponyville with a whole year’s worth of experiences to share, so go out there and make some memories.”

“Thank you, Princess. I will.” Sweetie walked unsteadily away with McGonagall’s hand on her elbow to stabilize her unpracticed gait in the direction of a side door. Just before they reached it, she whispered, “Professor McGonagall, did you mind when we were petting you?”

“Not at all, child. Just don’t let the other students know.” McGonagall patted her on the elbow and wrinkled up her nose. “Interferes with school discipline.”

Then they departed the dark courtroom and opened a door into the future.

- Ω - -

Theodore Nott found stepping out into the open center of the Wizengamot to be far less nerve-wracking than he thought it was going to be. Part of that was due to a large silver mirror in the middle of the room with a tall, regal-looking woman he had never seen before standing next to it. He had always liked new experiences and trying to puzzle out challenges before any of his class. The mirror was most likely the anchor for the portal spell they would use to travel to the mysterious northern land that the letter had been so reluctant to describe adequately. The woman, however…

Her colorful clothes were made of thin silks in white and pastel colors, drifting as if she were standing in a gentle breeze, which was odd because there was no wind at all in the stuffy room. She was certainly not a Vela, even though she had the perfect posture of a model, the eyes of a goddess, and the form… of something that Theodore should probably find something more interesting to look at before he was caught staring.

He decided to look around the Wizengamot chambers instead.

Admittedly, for a room which Theodore had never wanted to see in the first place, it seemed remarkably harmless. There were not even any imprisoned spirits chained to the walls or gruesome monsters held back by arcane wards to tear the livers out of anybody who awoke the ire of the Wizengamot. In fact, it looked much like the dusty old theatre in the basement of House Nott, which several centuries ago had been a gathering place for wizards to display their talents on stage. That had ended, of course, with the unfortunate demise of Backfire Nott, who still haunted the bowels of the House, offering wizardly advice to anybody foolish enough to take it.

The murmuring wizards of the Wizengamot looked more like some sort of social group that would have been right at home in House Nott’s basement theatre some centuries ago, casting disapproving glances at their fellow performing wizards and making snide comments on their parentage. Nott had to remind himself that despite their harmless appearances, their combined power was more than sufficient to do away with any criminal brought before them and their legal power could reach across the world to summon such criminals from any other wizarding domain.

The Wizengamot’s greatest weakness was the members themselves, and their view of each other as rivals. As long as that delicate balance was maintained, their actions were likewise weak and relatively ineffectual, but when their attention was unified by some sort of outside threat, they forgot their internal quarrels and moved with immense strength, although frequently in the wrong direction. Even the Dark Lord himself never challenged the Wizengamot directly, taking the subtle approach of intimidating and subverting the individual members while working in the shadows.

Those shadows seemed to flow around Theodore as Professor Vector left his side, moving to her seat with her peers in judgement. He pulled his luggage trolley forward with his head held high, ignoring the whispering witches and wizards in favor of the tall woman who so dominated the center of the room. And in return, the woman bestowed upon him a similar evaluating glance which seemed to sweep all the way through his head as if he were made of glass, and she was admiring the way the light twinkled in his soul.

“Ah, Mister Nott,” said the tall woman with a practiced smile.

Theodore was used to smiles, and the way they were used to cover up other emotions, or as a distraction for some sort of unexpected attack. Then there were the guileless smiles of the witless who were begging to be taken advantage of by those smarter or more powerful. This smile… was not. It seemed to be an honest smile, much like the one he had once seen on Professor Dumbledore’s face when he had first looked at Harry Potter after sorting. It was a proud smile, filled with concern and hopes for the future, but having a small fraction of a shark in it too for anyone who would attempt to thwart the smile’s owner and their plans. This was not the smile of someone who could be bribed, threatened, or bought, and the realization brought a sharp chill to the bottom of Theodore’s Slytherin heart.

“Good morning, Professor—” Theodore hesitated just a moment before saying the unfamiliar name “—Celestia.” Lesser students would have followed up by praising the learning experience they were looking forward to, or buttering up the movers and shakers that had made arrangements for the upcoming trip. It was all just unneeded chattering, because the decisions had already been made, and everything Theodore was taking with him was already packed into three stout trunks and pulled behind him on a fat-tyred trolley like he was off to the train, sans tracks.

Not that the upcoming trip made him nervous. At least not too much.

After all, Theodore knew transport spells. He had traveled by Disapparation before, as well as Floo powder, flying carpet, and all manners of magical transportation. Even the Portkey spell had been reasonably understandable during his Advanced Charms class, all of which were wizard spells in which he had earned his Outstanding rating, and most certainly would have excelled in the N.E.W.T. examinations which had been cancelled for obvious reasons.

This year would provide a totally different experience than anything he had seen before. Passing through a mirror created by another dimension did not seem to be a very safe form of transportation, even if it had been approved of by fifty or so of the Wizengamot. He would have much rather set foot inside one of the Muggle aeroplanes, because at least he would have been able to see out the window.

“I’m not really what you would call a professor,” said the tall woman, not changing her peaceful smile in the slightest. “I only teach my students certain lessons that others cannot. For your personal instructor, I have selected a very special individual. He asked for an older student with extensive experience in the nastiest curses, hexes, jinxes, and dark artifacts that our world could provide, and when I could not find one of my students who met his criteria, I was exceedingly fortunate to find you. With the permission of your wizard’s council, of course.”

“Just one moment, Ma’am.” Balthasar Bulstrode stood up at the main table of the Wizengamot, giving Theodore a brief, concerned look. “I don’t recall Professor McGonagall saying anything about sending one of our students into such a dangerous environment.”

The woman was obviously a master manipulator. Somehow she managed to make a simple glance at the charred Hogwarts emblem on Theodore’s luggage and a raised eyebrow into such an effective wordless argument that Balthazar Bulstrode spluttered and coughed before even attempting a retort.

“Not that Hogwarts is dangerous. Any more. Now that—” Bulstrode stopped again, apparently steeling his will and bursting out with “—Voldemort is gone for good. Ahem. Yes. What kind of danger were you planning on sending this young man into?”

Celestia nodded slowly as if conceding the point. “Much as your world has lived through the destruction of a great evil with the defeat of your Voldemort, our Crystal Empire too has suffered with the destruction of King Sombra. Many of his spells and devices remained buried after his death, but over the last few months, there have been signs of these destructive elements reemerging. If that were not bad enough, certain… powers are not content to see these evils destroyed when they can be bent to their own wills.”

“Well, why not request the services of one of our Aurors?” responded Bulstrode with an obvious sense of wounded pride. “They have great experience with dark magic and how to fight it, while the student you have selected is but a boy.”

“He is an adult by your laws and ours,” countered Celestia almost instantly. “And as for his age and experience, your Aurors are indeed powerful and talented, but Equestrian magic is different than yours, as you have so clearly seen. We have need of a young and flexible mind who will not respond to situations with reflexes honed against a different sort of magic, because such practiced reactions are far more likely to be dangerous than safe in our world.”

“If so,” started Balthasar Bulstrode, “after his year of education is over, he will return to us unprepared for life in our world.”

“I do not believe so, or I would not have sent Sweetie Belle to your world for a year,” responded Celestia in a perfect verbal parry. “His experiences will change him for the better, allowing young Theodore greater knowledge of both magic and cultures from each of our worlds. Both of our students have flexible minds that will benefit by this exchange, and in return I believe so will all of us. In any event, it is ultimately the decision of the students, and their judgement. What do you say, Mister Nott?”

Theodore was shocked, because he had been following along during the conversation as if it had been a duel between an old, cagey witch and a flailing amateur wizard. The woman had not used her words like knives, to cut and slice away at Balthasar’s arguments. Instead, she had agreed with the fat old fraud, and used his own words to prove her points. If there was any hidden meaning or selfish intent on her part, he certainly could see none of it. What he could see was opportunity far beyond his first instinctual reaction when he had received the letter.

“I believe I can do this,” said Theodore. “What Professor Celestia stated is correct. Since their magic is different than ours, the most experienced Auror placed in their world would be at significant disadvantage. I’ll be able to provide a different point of view on a problem they obviously need assistance with, or she would not have come to us.”

Left unspoken was the idea that some of this dark magic could be sampled, or used after Theodore returned, or even better, tucked away in one of the special compartments in his luggage much like the purloined Time Turner he had ‘found’ during the chaotic last few days at Hogwarts.

Balthasar Bulstrode seemed discontented at the way the conversation had turned, although he allowed the rest of the Wizengamot to vote anyway, and obviously withheld his own when the number of wands raised against Theodore’s travel plans could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Since Bulstrode could not block the action, he gave a brief speech speckled with ‘uphold the reputation of our world’ and ‘great responsibility’ several times, leaving the distinct impression that the older wizard had thought up the entire idea himself. Theodore did not point out the obvious deception, but simply nodded along with it, keeping his face set in the impassive mask that he had used for many years at Hogwarts to hide his thoughts.

Then it was time, and Theodore Nott faced the shimmering surface of the mirror to observe the reflection of the tall young man and the beautiful woman by his side. He extended his elbow as his father had taught him, and made note of the powerful grip that Celestia had when she took it.

Then they both stepped forward, into their reflections and through the magical portal. The world spun and twisted around Theodore, much worse than a bad trip through an obscure Floo exit point and making it very difficult to maintain a firm grasp on the trolley with his luggage. He did, of course, because the idea of going back to find misplaced portions of his things was not on his list of things to do when arriving.

Then the spinning of the world ended with a sharp wrenching sensation, allowing him to take a quick step forward so he was not overrun by his luggage, which would have been a wonderful way to introduce himself to whatever was waiting on this side. Theodore brushed off his suit, counted the cases on the trolley, and turned to face the woman…

...who was most certainly not a woman.

4. Layers Beneath Layers

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Layers Beneath Layers

The first thought that went through Theodore Nott’s head was, of course, ‘Unicorn!’

The second thought was to instinctively look around to see where the woman went. She should have been easy to spot, clad in long flowing silks in the same colors that flowed down from the unicorn’s long aristocratic neck. It took several blinks before some small voice in the back of his mind realized that the room was empty except for the mirror and himself, so therefore the tall unicorn and the tall woman were…

“Celestia?” he hazarded while catching his breath. The astonishing creature was absolutely no unicorn that Hogwarts had ever presented during class, although Hagrid would have been overjoyed to see this one, and most probably would have turned cartwheels at the sight. The situation was slightly more complicated by the long white wings the unicorn carried across her flanks, as well as the golden sunburst tattoo on her flank peeking out from under her wingtips. There was an echo of guarded power around Celestia, the tiniest fringe of a vast reservoir of magic and strength that could crack the world if she wished, or use to gently boost a butterfly on its way into the sky. There could be no comparison between her and any other wizard Theodore had ever seen… except perhaps the same way Dumbledore had maintained a semblance of a doddering old fool while concealing enough power to fight and drive away the Dark Lord himself. If this was all a front to conceal her real power, Theodore had to wonder just what kind of terrible might was concealed behind this mortal shell.

There was no sign of any concealed power in those soft violet eyes now, only an anticipatory expression, watching him as if expecting some sort of change and being vaguely disappointed as a result. If anything, that subdued smile and those dangerous eyes were more powerful with the size and grace of her equine body, making Theodore feel quite small in comparison.

The huge room around them was not helping. Wizarding architecture tended toward stone or rubbed and polished wood with narrow corridors and braced archways in the larger rooms. Stone was indeed a large quantity of the room’s building material, in a vast multitude of colors and translucency with sparkles and glints of what could only be precious gems or some facsimile thereof. Wizards did not make brilliant colorful rooms like this, most probably because their natural taste in dark clothing would make them feel too much like cockroaches scurrying around underfoot.

He must have been gawking for a while before Celestia’s soft voice interrupted his fascinated study of the beautiful room, which was glittering and sparkling all around him like a decorator had gone simply insane with the stuff.

“I am so glad you are not troubled by our portal, Mister Nott. Would you like to get settled in before meeting your instructor, and perhaps change into something a little more comfortable?”

Theodore shook away his musings and looked Celestia up and down, trying to get a handle on where he should go from here. After all, a divine force of power in this world should not ask his opinion.

“Oh!” exclaimed Celestia with a twinkle in her eyes. “Please forgive an old alicorn her occasional attempts at exploring the unseen depths of others. It’s always such a joy to discover gifts that one could not imagine in ordinary circumstances, and I would hope that you are not displeased enough with my antics to consider returning to your home.”

“Far from it, Ma’am,” answered Theodore, although his eyes were naturally drawn to the thin golden tiara that crested the winged unicorn’s head, the golden torc around her neck, and the likewise golden hoof-boots on her hooves. They did not seem to be ordinary wear for any kind of equine, and Celestia caught his searching glances without a pause.

“I apologize for not telling you the whole story before, Mister Nott. I’m retired, but once I was a Princess of the land of Equestria, and as you may have noticed, I am an alicorn. I really did not feel it wise to brandish my former title around in your world more than necessary.”

“Or your form,” he could not help but add.

“Oh, yes.” Celestia giggled with a musical voice that sounded like golden bells. “Godrick was forever trying to get hairs from my sister’s tail. Said it would make a dueling wand beyond anything wizardkind had ever seen before. It also most probably would have blown his arm off,” she added with less of a smile. “It was far safer, at least in that respect, to keep a more human form during our travels to your world.”

The concept was more than slightly boggling, but it was abstract knowledge that would wait for the moment. There were more important things in the short-term, and the proper, polite way to ask about them. After all, Snape had once told him that a pinch of tact would get him far more than a gallon of bile, and this was an excellent time to put that lesson in manners to the test.

“May we talk while walking, Ma’am? I would like to get my things put away as quickly as possible. Several of them are time-sensitive.”

“Oh, yes.” Celestia began to walk across the room with Theodore at her side. He tried to match his steps to her slow, deliberate motions only to give up and just walk normally after a few paces. Their resulting speed was slower than he expected, and still quickly enough that he dared not tarry.

With his luggage trolley trailing behind, the two of them headed for a broad portal in the room, a wide crystal door that hinted strongly at more crystal on the other side. Since there could scarcely be more crystal here without a larger chandelier or thicker floors, it seemed a fair guess that the mirror at this end of the portal was indeed in the ‘Crystal Empire’ she had referenced, particularly since this was where he was supposed to spend the next year anyway. Still, a few points needed clarification while they walked.

“So, in the event that I need to return—”

Celestia smoothly interrupted. “The mirror on the other side of the dimension will be deactivated and under the control of your Ministry of Magic. In the event we need to use it, I will send word by way of Philomena my phoenix to have it removed from storage and activated. Your Mister Shacklebolt seemed quite insistent on maintaining control over any traffic back and forth through the mirror. Are you having second thoughts?”

“No,” said Theodore immediately. In truth, he was having a few qualms about his upcoming educational experience, one of which was… “Are there any other humans in this world, Professor… that is Princess Celestia?”

“I’m afraid not, Mister Nott.” The calm demeanor of the graceful alicorn was interrupted by a very non-royal snort of amusement. “Beg pardon, sir.”

Theodore waved it off, then hesitated. “How are we speaking the same language? There are spells to accomplish that, but I don’t remember seeing any of them cast.” He produced his wand with a brief flick of the wrist and made a quick pass, only to remain speechless at what it revealed to his sight. There was not just one spell on him, but at least four, from a deceptively simple language spell to a pair of disillusionment charms which made his odd-to-this-dimension appearance more acceptable to whatever passed for a magicless muggle here. Complicating the matter was a fair blizzard of other spells all around him, nearly as many as graced the hallways of Hogwarts, and all completely different than he was expecting.

“Starswirl’s First Accommodation Spell,” said Celestia in response to his unasked question. “Handy for the dimensional traveler, and when combined with his Second Immutable Portal Determinator, prevents said traveler from opening a portal to an environment which would be inhospitable or hazardous. I believe there are even some spells of his embedded in the foundations of your school.” Celestia stifled a brief snort. “Rowena kept trying to scratch him behind the ears. He claimed it was ‘beneath his dignity’ but he never complained to her.”

The tall alicorn continued to talk about the events of a thousand years ago as if it were yesterday while they walked through the crystal corridors and halls of this strange place. To be honest, most of her words simply flowed past Theodore without soaking in very deep, because he was fascinated by their surroundings. On their short walk, they met no end of sparkling ponies, almost all of them without horns or wings like their princess, and every single one of them treated their brief encounter with a respectful bow of the head.

The trip was more than a little disconcerting, making Theodore constantly feel as if he were in some sort of crystalline china shop. It was also difficult to resist petting the residents, even though these creatures were as intelligent and polite as humans. He had to constantly remind himself that if the tables were turned and some tall creatures visited Hogwarts, he himself most likely would not have appreciated being patted on the head and scratched behind the ears either. Well, not more than once, for certain.

“I just wanted to apologize again, Mister Nott.” Celestia paused in front of a large set of double doors with her horn glowing slightly, which Theodore had learned was an indication of her using one sort of spell or another. “I’m afraid I’ve grown far too fond of drama over the years, but if you will excuse me just one more tiny gesture.”

She moved forward and the doors opened before them, revealing an entire city made of crystal and light glittering in the brilliant sunshine. It was so stunning that Theodore could not breathe, and his watering eyes darted from one faceted building in the distance to another impossible structure on all sides of the balcony until he had to blink and look back at Celestia, who seemed quite pleased with herself.

“Welcome to the Crystal Empire, Mister Nott.”

- Ω - -

The first thing Sweetie Belle wanted to do once they left the stodgy old wizards and witches of the Wizengamot was to explore all the fun places that Twilight Sparkle had told her about the human world. The immediate problem with that plan became obvious as she chattered away with Professor McGonagall.

This was a completely different world, different than anyplace she had visited with her sister, and far different than the one dimension Twilight Sparkle had told her about. Professor McGonagall did not know anything about any malls, or gallerias, or dance clubs, or nail salons, or anything!

Instead, there was a dark carriage waiting for them, a clever device called an automobile without anypony to pull it. The somber-faced skinny wizard controlling it did not speak, but made the vehicle fairly leap out into a street filled with similar automobiles, swerving and darting through gaps in the traffic far smaller than it should have fit, and blurring along at a pace that Scootaloo would have found quite thrilling.

“I must say, I didn’t expect a young lady with such special talents,” said Professor Mcgonagall once the automobile had gotten a fair distance into their trip. “First and foremost, we need to get you registered as an animagus, or the Wizengamot will have you back in front of them by the end of the week as an underaged witch using an unlicenced transformation.”

“Are there many animagisuses?” asked Sweetie, who was fairly pasted to the window of the automobile in order to see everything that was blurring past.

“More than many realize. A wizard who has that particular link to a creature tends not to wave it around, particularly if the creature is… odd, such as a skunk or hedgehog.” Professor McGonagall slid partway across the bench seat when the automobile made a sharp right turn, but managed to hold onto her pointed black hat, even during the several sharp turns that followed. “It’s also dangerous,” she managed to say during another set of serpentine curves, ending as the automobile streaked ahead with the surroundings turning into a dim blur

“Mister Shunpike,” McGonagall called out once she calmed down. “Do you think you can avoid trying to give some poor Muggle a heart attack. I’d like to get to my niece’s boarding house intact.”

“Sorry, Ma’am,” called back the driver, who paused to scratch his nose and look down at an unfolded map while the town whizzed past outside. “I’m not quite comfortable with the steering yet. It’s not like the bus.”

Mcgonagall closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, then turned back to Sweetie Belle. “Anyway, you’ve placed me into quite a pickle, young lady. Most students at Hogwarts are either from Muggle parents and having to learn all about the wizarding world for the first time, or from wizard parents and having to adjust to the Muggle concepts their fellow classmates bring with them. You’re both.”

“I’m a very good student, Professor McGonagall. Twilight Sparkle says I learn like a kitchen on fire, and I’ll study really, really hard.”

“Why does that sound vaguely ominous?” mused the professor out loud.

- Ω - -

Their destination turned out to be an ordinary appearing house, with an ordinary appearing woman standing outside, who greeted Professor McGonagall with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “And this must be your new student. She’s adorable, Aunt Minerva,” she said in a near squeal of joy, bending over to look Sweetie Belle in the eyes.

“I’m Donna Selkirk, Minerva’s great-niece on her father’s side. We’ve got an upstairs room set aside until it’s time for you to go to Hogwarts. Where are you from?”

“That is a question which fairly demands a cup of tea,” said McGonagall. “Come along into the house. Stan, you may take the car back to the Ministry. We shall not be needing it any more this day.”

Sweetie let herself be swept ahead of the two women on stumbling, clumsy feet, nearly tripping Miss Selkirk when the doorsill turned out to be a little taller than she expected, and dropping into the offered chair at the kitchen table with a relieved sigh while Miss Selkirk busied herself with the teakettle and cups.

“Good gracious, child. I didn’t think the ride from the Ministry of Magic was that rough. Did they have another new driver?”

Sweetie Belle slipped one foot out of her odd shoe and wriggled her sock-clad toes. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I’m not quite used to walking on two feet yet.”

The woman hesitated for a moment and cast a rapid but curious glance at the older witch, who was making the teacups and sugar bowl waddle to their respective positions on the table with short, precise flicks of her wooden stick. “The explanation will wait until tea,” said Professor McGonagall, adding, “Thank you, Donna,” when Miss Selkirk moved the kettle over to the table and began to pour.

“Will I be getting one of those… they’re called wands, aren’t they?” asked Sweetie Belle while the tea things were being distributed. “Because the Wizengamot was talking about the Code of Wand Use and I noticed whenever you do magic, you have your wand out or one hand on it, but I’ve never needed to use a wand since I’m a unicorn and—”

“You’re a unicorn?” asked Miss Selkirk while leaning forward in obvious expectation of following that question with several more, only to slowly lean back in her chair when Professor McGonagall gave her a sharp look.

“I assure you, Donna, that the identity of our new student came as a complete surprise to everyone at the Wizengamot, including Balthasar Bulstrode. I think he was about to swallow his tongue,” she added, turning to Sweetie. “In all fairness, the fact that the letters we exchanged with your previous teacher all referred to the land of Equestria should have given us a clue. Nevertheless, I’m certain you will make an excellent student this year. Err…”

Professor McGonagall took a sip of tea while obviously considering how to phrase a question, but Sweetie Belle spoke up first.

“So this world is full of human beings but no ponies, while my world is full of ponies, but no humans. Do you have flying humans to bring the weather and farming ponies… I mean humans to grow all the food?”

Professor McGonagall thought for a moment, then used her wand to lift an entire package of colorful cookies out of the kitchen cabinet and put them down in the middle of the table.

“This sounds like it may take a while. Go ahead, Sweetie Belle. Tell us about your world first.”

Back when Twilight Sparkle had been in the middle of one of their lessons, she had told Sweetie Belle that ponies were mostly unaware of their environment in much the same way as fish were unaware they were in water. Twilight had said whenever her friends were called upon to travel outside of the pony lands, it had always made her appreciate coming home even more, like a breath of fresh air.

The idea had not made much sense to Sweetie at the time, because the furthest she had been from Ponyville were some of the pony towns in Equestria. Now while she talked to the two attentive human women, Sweetie finally understood what Twilight was trying to say.

As advanced as the humans were here, they were also primitive in many respects. They did not have pegasi to bring the rain, or a Princess to raise the sun every morning, or even earth ponies to grow the food. All they had was humans, and what was worse, a great number of the humans had no idea magic even existed. Here, the worlds of the magic and the magic-less were kept apart by walls of secrecy because of the danger that the Muggle world, which was what they called humans who could not use magic, could inflict on the much smaller magical communities.

It reminded Sweetie of the story the Windigos, and how the three tribes of ponykind had united in friendship to drive their eternal winter away, only in the inverse, because on Earth, the unicorns would have hidden their horns and blended in by pretending to be earth ponies. Still, the human’s system of keeping the two worlds apart had worked for well over a thousand years, so there must have been something to it.

Or at least until recently.

There had been a human wizard called Voldemort who killed many people, both wizards and muggles alike. All of the wizarding world had been terrified, unable to trust one another, and neither of the two women was willing to admit much more than that even after assuring Sweetie that Voldemort was dead, most certainly, and never to return.

The cost was reflected in both of their faces, memories of loss that even hugs from Sweetie did not eliminate, although Professor McGonagall did have a long-delayed cry and Miss Selkirk provided a long series of tissues for the both of them. They were good tears, and gave Sweetie Belle a sense of completeness in this alien world. Her talent was related to music, and after all, song was merely unleashed emotions set to music, and the threat of Voldemort was a fading echo that only survived in memories.

A persistent memory, it seemed. Sweetie had met ponies who had suffered loss, including her friend Apple Bloom who had lost her own parents so long ago that she barely remembered them. It helped to talk about the loss, but whenever she tried today, the walls went up and both women changed the topic. Even Professor McGonagall slipped away when Miss Selkirk turned the conversation to the Muggle world and their strange rules, but she promised to return this evening.

Deciding that exploring the subject of Voldemort could wait until later, Sweetie Belle let herself be swept away by just why a plate full of cookies were called biscuits or why all of the witches and wizards seemed unable to abide a color scheme other than black. Other than the fashions, Sweetie Belle’s sister Rarity would have loved it here because people wore clothes everywhere, even to bed. It was understandable, because without a pony’s coat of short hairs, every little breeze gave her little chills. When she mentioned it, Miss Selkirk took her upstairs to an unused bedroom that was quite dusty, and which Sweetie could not help but think had once belonged to a child taken away by the evil wizard many years ago.

The room had been put to other purposes since then, with all of the child’s belongings boxed up and the closet filled with extra clothes other boarders had left behind. Then again, after sorting through the clothes and finding some that were not too strange and fit reasonably well, perhaps it was best that Rarity was kept an entire dimensional barrier away from here, because she would have gone through at least three fainting spells during their closet excavation.

Since none of the second-hoof stockings were paired, Sweetie wound up with one warm plaid sock with toes and one striped sock that came all the way up her leg. Although one was tinted in garish shades of violet and the other orange, a loose black dress covered them neatly, from hips to ankles. Miss Selkirk helped her cut the tops out of several mis-matched socks to use as arm warmers, and they both considered various hats before giving it up as a lost cause. Sweetie Belle’s hair liked being poomphed up in front, and resisted any attempts at being braided, tied, or woven to control it. They even considered a knit cap made out of wool, but since the outside was still what Miss Selkirk called summer weather, they decided to just have her go bare-headed for the time being, and go shopping for proper winter clothing later.

“So, Auntie Minerva said you’ve got a scholarship to cover school supplies and such, but do you have a clothing allowance for out of school? If not, I think we can just go shopping anyway. The household budget can cover some expenses.” Miss Selkirk tousled Sweetie’s multi-coloured mane and giggled. “You are just so cute.”

“My sister sent some gems with me for expenses,” explained Sweetie while reaching for her knapsack that Professor McGonagall had transformed. “I hope it’s enough.” She dumped the contents over the bed’s dusty cover and gave a brief squeak of surprise at the flashing book in the middle of the scattered gemstones. “Oh no! I was supposed to write right back to Apple Bloom and Scootaloo when I got here! Do you have a quill and some ink?”

Donna Selkirk did not take her eyes off the pile of gems, but just reached into her blouse and removed a pen, handing it over while a small muscle under one eye began to twitch.

“Some gems?” she managed to say. Miss Selkirk ran her fingers through the collection, separating the rubies and emeralds by color away from several large sapphires the size of her thumb. “That’s… um… Yes, this should cover your expenses. Were you planning on purchasing any small countries during your visit?”

“No, just clothes and stuff,” said Sweetie around the pen. It was easier to hold than a quill, because the feathery frills didn’t tickle the inside of her mouth, and the ink flowed out like magic without needing to be dunked or anything. She wrote until she had a good summary of her experiences to this point, then closed the book and regarded the damp pen. “These are neat! I should buy a bunch of them, since school always involves a lot of writing. Are they expensive?”

Miss Selkirk did not seem to hear the question. She had finished sorting the gemstones and was just holding onto one of the plum-sized diamonds between her thumb and forefinger, examining it in the bright lights of the room and watching the sparkles.

5. A Whole New World

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
A Whole New World

The view from the Crystal Empire castle balcony exceeded anything Theodore Nott had ever dreamed of. The whole city below was crystal, shaped as if some insane gemcutter had decided to explore the possible combinations of facets and reflection on gemstones the size of houses. Large houses, and buildings that could not in any fashion contain living creatures, because the ponies inside would have spent their entire days marveling at their surroundings instead of doing trivial things like eating and breathing. There were not enough colors in the rainbow to describe the way light bounced around, fracturing and recombining in such frantic exuberance as to make Theodore reflexively draw his wand out and conjure a set of thick sunglasses in self-defense.

And yet…

Down in that beautiful city and the expanses of green that surrounded it was something… wrong, a fluid darkness that flickered near the corner of the eye and went away when looked directly at. The longer he stood and watched, the more pronounced the darkness became. It lurked in the shadows of the houses and the lines of sparkling trees outside of the city, all the way to the featureless snowpack far, far in the distance where the weather seemed to abruptly turn from the warm sunshine of his observation spot to a blowing snow of eye-straining whiteness. And far worse, the unseen presence felt as if it were looking back, much like a vicious guard dragon who had been alerted to a threat but was unable to discern enough details to bite it.

“Is something wrong, Mister Nott?” Celestia’s gentle touch on his shoulder shook Theodore out of his growing nervousness, and let him slide his wand back into the sleeve holster where it belonged until he understood just what, or who, was lurking out there in the innocent city.

“No, Professor… That is Princess Celestia. I think I need to visit my rooms now. When will you be introducing me to the teacher you mentioned?”

That perfect equine face graced the world with a smile, but Theodore could see the strain lines tracing underneath the furry coat no matter how hard she was trying to hide it. “He should be waiting in your chambers. I thought the two of you could get acquainted while you unpack. Dinner this evening will be a social event with my niece, Princess Cadence, and her family. They rule here, while my home and the vast majority of ponies are more to the south. Perhaps, if you get a moment away from your work, you can come visit Canterlot. Princess Twilight Sparkle will be delighted to see you, although she may talk your ears off about magic.”

“That’s three princesses you’ve mentioned so far,” said Theodore while following along at Celestia’s side. “Are they all like…” He gestured at her wings, causing Celestia to give a short, musical laugh.

“Oh, I forgot. Yes, there are five alicorn princesses in Equestria. The Princess of Love, Cadence, rules over the Crystal Empire, while her daughter, Princess Flurry Heart is quite young and getting into everything around here. Then there is Princess Twilight Sparkle, my faithful student and the current ruling princess, who lives in Canterlot with her friends. That is her special talent, of course, as the Princess of Friendship. Then there is myself, of course, and my sister Princess Luna, the Princess of the Night. The two of us ruled over all of Equestria before our retirement. It can lead to confusion at times, because Equestria is much larger than the Crystal Empire, and yet we all carry the title of Princess.”

“Ah, I see.” Although they were still strolling peacefully along the castle corridors, Theodore was reluctant to remove his sunglasses. The colorful outdoors had been blinding while the interior walls were simply glittering with color, not nearly as hard on the eyes but still brighter than he was used to seeing. “Didn’t your co-regency have issues with leadership? What if your sister decided to do something and you decided on a different course of action?”

“Ah…” Celestia’s steady gait faltered for a fraction of a step, one of her ears flicked backward, and her nostrils flared slightly, things that Hagrid had mentioned about equines under stress. “There you have placed your finger squarely upon a problem which vexed us since the creation of Equestria. In fact, it was the basis of a rather uncomfortable conflict in our recent history, which I planned on telling you about later, but since you brought it up, I suppose now is as good a time as any.”

Celestia cleared her throat while walking, and lapsed into a lecturing tone of voice. “When we first established Equestria in the form it is in now, I raised the sun to bring on the day, and my sister raised the moon—”

“Wait a minute,” said Theodore despite himself. “Raised the sun, and the moon?”

“Yes, of course.” Celestia regarded him with a slight tilt to her head. “Princess Twilight has the task now. I and my sister held the responsibility for centuries, and before our time, it was the task of the unicorns, and before them, the Stone of Sun and Moon held by the Breezies. I would imagine there was some method before then, but that was several thousand years before our arrival, and historical records that age are few and unreliable. Since I was responsible for raising the sun and bringing on the day, I ruled Equestria during that time, and at night when my sister raised the moon, she took over the responsibility, including that of monitoring the Dream Realms, which I have to admit I’m not very good at.”

With a little shake of her horn that made Celestia’s flowing mane ripple, she continued, “In any event, my sister became angered that our little ponies did not appreciate her beautiful night as much as my day. That anger became a weakness that permitted her corruption into a being known as Nightmare Moon.”

“And… you fought?” prompted Theodore after a period of silent walking through the cool crystal corridors.

“We fought,” admitted Celestia reluctantly. “It was a bitter confrontation, which I lost. In order to preserve the lives of my precious ponies, I was forced to banish my sister to the moon for a thousand years. When she returned, I could not bear to fight her again, but my faithful student, Twilight Sparkle, managed to purge the darkness from Nightmare Moon and return my dear sister. You see, Mister Nott, the darkness in this world is a treacherous thing, which even I can be deceived by, and once it claims a vulnerable being, it can require great sacrifice to expunge it.”

Theodore nodded while he walked, thinking of the piles of rubble littering Hogwarts and the lives that had been snuffed out during the final battle. The defenders had all fought with a degree of ferocity that boggled the mind, unwilling to yield one inch to the forces of Voldemort, while his own side had been divided in loyalty, and thus far weaker than numbers alone might have suggested. Even the Malfoy family had abandoned the field before the final confrontation, taking with them their only son, while far too many of the forces remaining had been only looking out for their own interests instead of being united in purpose. The followers of Harry Potter had been willing to sacrifice their own lives in defense of an idea, while Voldemort had only been willing to sacrifice his followers.

Then again, somewhere deep in his own heart, Theodore knew that his own professed loyalty and support had been far more hollow than he admitted, leaving him wonder just how being really committed to a noble cause would feel.

“Our world has suffered from its own darkness, Princess Celestia. Are you sure that my assistance will help your world?”

Theodore Nott had never been a hugger. The closest experience to the warm embrace of a loved one he had was from his father who had always been a cold, bitter creature except on rare occasions where he patted him on the head. The warm nuzzle from Princess Celestia on one cheek set him back a step, despite the pleasant smell of her breath like sweetened tea and the soft, prickly sensation of her nose. “I know,” she whispered into his ear. “I have faith in you, Theodore. You will do great things here, and the safety of my little ponies could not be in more secure hands.”

In his confusion, Theodore found himself scratching behind Celestia’s ears, which was not all that bad.

- Ω - -

It turned out that Miss Selkirk’s boarding house was only empty while the boarders were at work. Once the seven-armed clock on the wall swung six of the hands to ‘Quitting Time’ on its wooden face, the large fireplace on the wall of the dining room flared into life, and six humans stepped out in rapid succession. The clothes they were wearing maintained the same mish-mash of dark fashion as the rest of the humans Sweetie had seen so far, only more conservative in their color selection and formal appearance. Both of the male humans wore bow ties and all of the women had long skirts, but their ages varied far across the spectrum, with the youngest human seeming to be barely old enough to be out on his own and the eldest woman a ball of wrinkles and missing teeth who could have easily been compared to Granny Smith, the eldest of the Apple clan back home in Equestria.

As one, they all came to a halt and stared at Sweetie Belle before the young man stepped forward with wide eyes and an extended hand to shake. “Merlin’s beard,” he breathed. “The Minister said you were a striking young witch. I’m Percival Weasely,” he added with a touch of one long-fingered hand to his chest. “You must be Sweetie Belle.”

Sweetie tried to duplicate the handshake that was expected, but was still getting accustomed to fingers. They were complicated! “Pleased to meet you,” she responded while looking him over, from the top of his dusky reddish mane to the long topcoat he wore, all the way down to a set of far too small looking black shoes. Miss Selkirk had said shoes were made of actual cow’s skin, although cows here were supposedly as dumb as fence posts and could not talk. She reluctantly looked back up and at the other faces gathered around. “And all of you too,” she added. “Miss Selkirk said you work at the Ministry of Magic.”

“All except for Dunham there,” said the eldest witch with a nudge to the plain wizard at her side. Even in Equestria, he would be counted as ordinary, with no unusual features that a passing glance might linger on. “He doesn’t admit to working anywhere, but we share the expense of the Floo powder, and don’t ask.”

The elderly witch hunched over to look straight into Sweetie Belle’s eyes, with her own blue eyes opening up even larger while she stared. “My word. Such a striking shade of green. One would almost think the rumor scurrying about the Ministry about you being a unicorn is true.”

Sweetie nodded, and the humans all took various breaths of surprise, except for Dunham, who did not react at all.

“No, don’t change to show us,” said a middle-aged witch with a tiny bald spot she was trying to keep what was left of her hair combed over, although the rest of her was abundantly generous, including a hefty mauve vest straining to hold back a pair of oversized udders. “Timious, she’d be under your Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, correct?”

“I don’t think so,” said a slender witch with her black hair drawn up into such a severe bun it looked like a small second skull lumped at the back of her head and pulled the skin around her face backward. The stark style did not so much hide what wrinkles she had, but rather made them look like a faint spiderweb had been scattered along her cheeks. “She’s a human, as determined by the Wizengamot, so if indeed she can turn into a unicorn no don’t do it please—” The witch took a quick breath. “Galloway, your department handles the registration of Animagi, correct?”

“She’s not a proper animagus as the term has been defined into law,” said a prim, shorter witch. “The skill of Transformation takes a proper witch or wizard years of study to master before they can craft the Animagus Potion. She would more properly be under Timious’ department, as a magical creature who can take human form, such as a sprite or a pixie.”

“Sprites and pixies are fae creatures,” countered the slender witch. She made a quick gesture with her wand and seemingly created a small lump of glittering metal, which she held out for Sweetie Belle to pick up. “As you can see, the subject… I mean Miss Belle is not reacting to iron at all, nor silver,” she added with the conjuration of another metallic lump for Sweetie Belle to hold. “Nor gold, or even platinum. She is most certainly not from the Fae realm.”

“Hm…” The short witch regarded Sweetie Belle from nearly her own altitude, and through a thick pair of glasses, which she touched and adjusted while peering intently. “It certainly seems to be a Transformation, although without seeing her shift forms, I cannot make an appropriate judgement.”

“And as an underaged witch who is not a registered Animagus, she cannot change forms without triggering a notification and alarm from your department,” said the slender witch. “Which is a bugger, because now I want to see it. I’ve never known a unicorn who can shift into human form before.”

“Now, wait a minute,” said Percival, lifting up his hands and setting himself in front of his peers.

“I don’t recall any registration forms being in the incoming queue,” mused Galloway from around the obstacle. “And I have a key to the office.”

“Since she’s a transfer student, it should only take a temporary permit,” said the middle-aged witch, looking around Percival’s other side. “Far less paperwork, and you’ve got the witnesses here to sign.”

After that, things happened far faster than Sweetie Belle could comprehend. Something called ‘Floo’ powder was expended at a rapid rate with wizards and witches zipping in and out of the big fireplace and pieces of paper being stuffed in front of her to write her name at the bottom in loopy human script. At the end of all the activity, she was given a single sheet of paper called a ‘Provisional License for Animagus Transformation - Other - Unicorn’ which was supposed to cost over fifty galleons, but Galloway accepted one of the smaller rubies that she had in her saddlebag instead, and promised to bring back her change the next day.

“So…” prompted Galloway before slowing to a halt.

Timious picked up the conversation thread, giving Sweetie a modest smile and adding, “She’s just curious what you look like as a unicorn, dearie. As I suppose we all are. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.” The slender witch sat down on one of the dining room chairs, and gathered her fellow Ministry employees around in a semicircle while Sweetie Belle fidgeted on the wooden parquet floor.

“Well… I suppose. Since I have the license.” She began to peel out of the loose clothing, only to have the two men wince and turn away, and one of the older witches gasp.

“Oh, no, dearie,” said Timious as she helped pull Sweetie’s black dress back down. “You’ll give poor Dunham a heart attack. A proper young witch stays dressed at all times, even in her bedchambers. I know you may not understand this, since you are used to frolicing through the forest without clothes, but—”

“I have an entire closet of pony clothes I didn’t bring with me. My sister designs all kinds of dresses for ponies in some of the largest fashion centers in Equestria, and she uses me as a model sometimes,” insisted Sweetie Belle. “They all have big poofy hats and sparkly shoes, a refined amount of lace for older ponies, and proper embellishments for younger ponies. Rarity’s famous, and even made dresses for Princess Twilight Sparkle’s coronation.”

“Oh,” said Timious with her mouth hanging slightly open. “Princess?”

The shortest witch tutted quietly and stepped forward to place one hand on Sweetie Belle’s shoulders. “Just pay Timious no mind. She’s not comfortable without a rucksack and pith helmet, out in the wilds of Romania. Since you’re so used to clothes, and the Wizengamot said your Transformation seemed to be instinctual, this should be easy for you. Just concentrate on your natural… Your other form, and sort of slip sideways into it. Here, follow me.”

Galloway closed her eyes, bit on her bottom lip, and shrank just the same as Professor McGonagall, only instead of turning into a cat, she turned into a darkish grey-brown creature covered in short spines.

“A hedgehog!” exclaimed Sweetie Belle, bending down and giving the former witch a cautious petting. Fluttershy had taught her a lot about animal care, with the exception of the cockatrices out in the Everfree Forest, which were still off-limits. Unfortunately, her experiences had not led to a cutie mark in animal care, but as disappointing as it was at the time, she was much happier with the mark she received with her friends. “Can all of you turn into animals?” she asked, giving the hedgehog a scratch under her chin.

- Ω - -

The castle in the Crystal Empire was larger than Theodore Nott expected, with no moving staircases, talking portraits, or drifting ghosts like he had become accustomed to in Hogwarts. Just miles and miles of crystal corridors with crystal wall-decorations and crystal planters holding what for all intents and purposes were crystal plants. Oh, and crystal ponies wandering past, who all looked at Nott with a startled expression, glanced at Celestia by his side, and continued walking with false nonchalance as if they saw a young human in a black suit every day of the week. He suspected it was a combination of both the accomodation spell and a psychological trick of Celestia’s to get the castle residents used to the odd human by simply walking and chatting with him as if everything were perfectly normal. After a few moments thought, it paralleled quite nicely with Dumbledore introducing the students from the other wizarding schools for the TriWizard Tournament while all of the Hogwarts students were gathered together and distracted by the upcoming event. In both cases, it was forethought to prevent any unnecessary panic.

I wonder how well Celestia plays wizard’s chess?

It took little time to get settled into his new room, even though it felt as if he were in a building constructed for goblins due to the low doorframes and oddly proportioned furniture. Once all the alchemical experiments in his trunks were set up on tables so they could whistle, chirp, or bubble as the case may be, and with the unexpected assistance of Celestia, Theodore was feeling a little more at home. Actually and oddly, he was feeling more at Hogwarts, because House Nott had never been a comfortable place for him, at best.

While Celestia left to find out what had delayed Theodore’s new teacher, he took the time to inventory his existing potions and unpack his books onto the provided shelves. Despite what little he had been told so far about his project, he had a fair guess as to what spells would be useful and what potions to start brewing. Thankfully, the Undetectable Extension charm on his largest iron-bound chest held a staggering array of herbs and spell components, yet another thing that he owed the deceased Professor Snape.

Theodore had just gotten a selection of potion ingredients lined up for weighing when he heard the light scuffle of hoofsteps by the door. From what limited experience Theodore had with the pony races, it was hard to get an estimate of the pale blueish-green unicorn’s age, but his guess was that the sparkling crystal pony was only a little older than himself, but with many more strenuous miles under his hooves. There was a look of misery about his sapphire blue eyes that showed he too had seen death, at a far more extreme level than Theodore, and that physical battle also showed in little white patches on his coat like flecks of snow and a few discoloured patches on his horn, as if it had chipped and regrown.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you Mister Nott?”

There was nothing battered or worn about the unicorn’s voice, though. He had a strong tenor with such pure pitch that Professor Flitwick would have hustled him into the choir immediately regardless of his lack of fingers.

“Yes, I’m Nott,” admitted Theodore, although he kept the fingers of his right hand near his left sleeve just in case he needed to use his wand. “Are you my new instructor?”

“No, sir.” The miserable unicorn fidgeted in place, but his eyes never left the human, much as if he expected Theodore to sprout fangs and attack him at any moment. Since his uninvited guest did not want to talk, Theodore went back to measuring potion ingredients and setting up several of the smaller cauldrons for later, if needed. It took most of an hour, but all the time while Theodore worked, the unicorn remained exactly where he was, just looking much like a silent pale-green snowdrift in the doorway with alert eyes that followed his every move. Theodore was no real fan of small talk, but he was used to others at least trying to wheedle out information about him and his family, and since his job over the next few months would be dependent on information…

“You already know my name is Theodore Nott. What’s yours?” asked Theodore, turning abruptly from adjusting one of the silver cauldrons over an unlit burner.

“Um…” The unicorn was set off-balance, as Theodore had hoped. “I’m working on turning over a new leaf, so I haven't picked one yet. There are some ponies in the Crystal Empire who might…” He slowed to a stop and bit his bottom lip, obviously unwilling to continue.

Taking a guess at just why the unicorn was outside his open door instead of anywhere else in the world, Theodore asked, “I take it you’re here to work with my instructor on eliminating any of King Sombra’s leftover Dark Magic too?”

“Yes.” The word was very quiet, nearly inaudible. A compassionate person would take pity on the obviously frightened but still quite adorable creature. A Slytherin, however, was trained to exploit such weaknesses to discover information they may not be able to find any other way.

Theodore forced himself to relax enough to get out a few empty vials, putting on an air of impassivity as if facing the magic of King Sombra was simply another minor inconvenience in his life, instead of being just about as frightened on the inside as the unicorn was on the outside. Keeping his voice dry and level, he arranged his pewter measuring spoons while asking his next deliberate question, keeping an eye on the mirror in his collection just in case.

“If all you’re just going to do is stand there like a lump, what can you tell me about this Crystal Empire?”

“I’m not sure how much help I’d be,” admitted the unicorn after a habitual glance over his shoulder that Theodore was starting to recognize. “I suppose I can try.”

“I just need some of the basics. Start at the beginning,” prompted Theodore after a period of relative silence. “What was it like before King Sombra?”

“Peaceful.” The unicorn nodded, and quite obviously relaxed ever so slightly at the memory. “Ours was a beautiful kingdom, filled with joy and laughter. I… can’t remember much of it since I was very young, but nothing could block my memory of getting my cutie mark in climbing.” The unicorn turned slightly and showed his rump, which had a plain vertical line on it. This ‘cutie mark’ concept seemed odd and worthy of future inquiry, but for now, Theodore nodded encouragement at his information source, who seemed to gain confidence by the sound of his own melodic voice.

“Then Sombra arrived.” Any sense of relaxation in the unicorn vanished, and a low shiver began traveling up and down his pale blue coat in slow ripples. “We had no idea what was in store for us. We didn’t even notice the changes in the empire as he slipped into power. Such small things, an official notice here, a pony vanishing there. We pretended nothing was wrong, nothing could be wrong, made excuses, hid away from reality until one night there was a terrible storm…”

The unicorn sucked in a breath, obviously fighting against long-suppressed instinct which wanted to clamp his jaws shut. With a convulsive heave, he blurted out, “Until Sombra killed our princess and declared himself king. Then it was too late to fight. It was too late for anything. Everything became… a little fuzzy from there on.”

The unicorn wrenched his eyes away from Theodore and took several steps to one side so he could gaze out the broad window and into the crystal city spread out below, and the vast fields of green and white that extended beyond. Part of Theodore wanted to see what the unicorn could see in his mind’s eye, while most of him simply was grateful he could not. The unicorn’s words were terrifying enough.

“King Sombra used memory spells, mind control magic, and illusions to hide his actions from the outside world of Equestria. He took over the entire kingdom and built it into something mighty and terrible, an empire of fear and uncertainty. You could not trust your neighbor, your family, or even yourself at times. Speak the wrong words or even look at something wrong and one of Sombra’s helmeted thugs would drag you away.”

The unicorn sucked in a rapid breath and continued at a faster pace. “We would not blame Sombra, we could not. We lied to ourselves and said the helmets were to blame. Once one of those helmets went on a pony, they never would be the same again. Green magic glowed from their eyes, seeking out anypony who would oppose their master. They took mothers from nursing foals, elderly ponies from their families, even children. Any who fought them would be captured as well, forced into a helmet if they passed some unknown test, or into the mines for the ones who failed, down below ground for years at a time. Mostly, we never heard from them again. Mostly. Sometimes, he would release what scraps remained back into the city. They never talked. They just obeyed whatever they were told by anypony. They were living examples of what would happen to us if we even thought about disobeying his orders. Then, it got worse. The dark fog began to grow, lurking in the shadows of the city. Even the barrier that protected us wavered, and the cold, bitter wind seeped in. Things in the darkness howled and gibbered, while even Sombra’s helmeted slaves were dragged away and vanished into the night. Some of us fled for the mines. Even the damp cold and the absolute darkness of the depths were better than what roamed the streets at night. Whole families huddled together and waited for the end while Sombra proceeded with his unspeakable experiments as if nothing were wrong.”

The unicorn heaved a deep, shuddering breath with his jaw set and his eyes focused on the world outside, as if he was determined to finish his story while he was still able. “Then, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna arrived. They had finally seen through his illusions, and demanded that he set us free. There was a great battle, and rather than lose, Sombra dragged the entire empire with all the ponies into shadow with his final spell.”

By this point, the unicorn’s ears were lying flat against his skull and his tail was tucked almost all the way under his belly, while his voice had gotten softer and softer with every word. Theodore had moved up closer so he could hear the story better, and without thinking about it, placed one hand on the terrified pony’s cold shoulders. The furry skin beneath his fingers jumped at the unexpected touch, then settled down until it was only trembling slightly, making Theodore try to remember any time in his life where his touch on another creature had this kind of calming effect. He patted gently, trying to remember Hagrid’s lessons on unicorns other than ‘The horn ain’t just there for looks, so be careful when they be looking at you all cross like that.’ Thankfully, this unicorn had a much blunter horn than the unicorns in the Dark Forest at Hogwarts, less of a timid demeanor, and just the hint of steel in his voice as he continued his story.

“Nopony remembers what that time was like, if we lived through all of it in a thousand years of shadow and can’t remember, or if it all passed in the blink of an eye. There’s nothing left in the world the same, other than Celestia and Luna. I think we would have been better off if all of our memories had been lost, and we had been reborn as foals. But no,” he added with a bitter snap to his words. “The only thing that remained the same was him.”

The unicorn pawed at the cool crystal floor and snorted, looking away from his reflections in the shimmering glass and closing his eyes. “I didn’t care. I ran. When whatever it was freed us from the shadows, I fled like a coward, went south and did not stop running until I reached the sea. Later, I heard that he was destroyed, that the Crystal Princess had returned, and that the Empire was reborn as a place of love. At first, I thought it was all lies. Another one of his many tricks or some new illusion maybe. There had been so many, all the more terrible than the rest. Then I talked to some of the ponies who had seen the Great and Honorable Spike the Brave and Glorious save an entire crowd of ponies during the Crystal Games. I was so ashamed. A ferocious dragon saving the lives of ponies while I hid in the muddy saltwater swamps, gathering roots and berries.”

The unicorn stood there with his eyes closed for a while, shivering under Theodore’s hand. “After that, he returned. Just stepped out of the shadows like he had never left, enslaved the Crystal Princess and her family. I should have felt justified in hiding. Trust led to betrayal, like it always will. Fighting is futile. I wasn’t a hero like Twilight Sparkle. After she defeated Sombra again, I remained in hiding. A coward.”

Theodore thought over the unicorn’s confession and homed in on the part that gave him the most concern. “If you’re such a coward, why did you come back here?” After a certain amount of time when all the unicorn did was look at his dark reflection in the floor, he added, “You spoke of experiments. Did you help King Sombra create some of the dark magics I was brought here to destroy?”

“I… don’t know. Maybe. I would not put it past me. I have spells in my head, terrible and vicious things that I wish I could forget. At night, I can feel them scratching at the back of my mind, looking for a way out. And the screaming…” The unicorn slumped under Theodore’s hand, much as if a grossly fat human had just climbed onto his back. “Every time I heard about the… problems they were having here, the guilt ate at me from the inside. I had to return or kill myself.”

It made sense to Theodore. There were human patients in the incarceration wing of St. Mungo’s who still did not know what crime they had committed, and were probably quite glad to remain ignorant. It made him wonder about his own father and his inevitable passing, but Theodore shook his head and focused on the task at hand.

“You came back to help, and that’s the important thing. Although I can’t just call you Hey You.” Theodore mused on his unicorn counterpart, who at least was not trembling under his hand any more. He gave the unicorn a brief pat on the head, then reclaimed his hand before the gesture could be taken as some sort of pony insult. “Since you’ve returned to make things better, how about New Leaf for now? It seems to fit the local names, and whenever you find a better alias, you can switch then.”

“That’s…” The unicorn bit his top lip and his ears slowly began to rise from their flattened positions against the sides of his head, making him look marginally happy for a change. “That’s acceptable,” he finally said. “Thank you, Mister Nott.”

“Good.” It felt decidedly odd for Theodore to be in the lead, which is why he immediately added, “So if you don’t know where the instructor is—”

“Granite Peaks,” said New Leaf. “But he hits if you call him anything but Granite.”

“Granite,” finished Theodore a little slower and with a check of his watch, which read three runes until mealtime. “If you know where Granite is, maybe we can pick him up on the way to dinner. Princess Celestia said Princess Cadence will be there, and I’ve never dined with royalty before,” he added a little hesitantly.

“Me neither,” admitted Leaf, who flickered a look at Theodore Nott’s face before continuing, “So… If we find him, you think… um…”

“That we can hide behind him during dinner?” completed Theodore with the first hint of a smile he had felt in ages. “Yes.”

- Ω - -

By the time dinner was about ready to be served in the boarding house, Sweetie Belle was getting the hang of this ‘Transformation’ magic, or at least the spell she used to change into a human and back. After one or two minor incidents that left a few socks missing and a scorched spot on the living room floor that one of the witches buffed out with her wand, she was even managing to take the clothes with her part of the time.

The food smelled delicious, and although Sweetie was worried about how to use forks and spoons in human company, she had an idea. Since everypony… that is everybody in the house knew she was an annamanagi… a unicorn who could turn into a person, she could eat dinner in her more familiar form and observe human table manners in the process for later. Why, she didn’t even know if it was proper people procedure to stick your face into a bowl of soup or use a spoon like unicorns did.

Before all of the people could be called into the dining room, the fireplace flared again and the slim dark form of Professor McGonagall emerged from the flames at a brisk trot. “There you are, Sweetie,” she snapped, looking very harried like Rarity appeared whenever she was far behind in a dress order. “I’ve managed to collect all the forms to have you declared a…”

The elderly witch slowed to a halt and looked at Sweetie Belle, who stood there on all four hooves and looked back.

“I see,” said Professor McGonagall after a short period of solemn observation.

All of the people in the house put on identical innocent expressions that reminded Sweetie Belle of the way her fellow pony students would look when their teacher, Miss Cheerilee, caught them doing something they should not have. Even the plain and ordinary looking Dunham seemed cowed by the potential chastisements Professor McGonagall was about to unleash, and Sweetie Belle clattered forward across the floor to get in the way first before she could start.

“I’m sorry, Miss… I mean Professor McGonagall,” started Sweetie once she managed to get stopped on the slick wooden floor that left very little traction for hooves. “I didn’t know you were working on the forms too or I would have said something and Miss Galloway got all the approvals and I signed the papers and am I in trouble?”

Sweetie finished with an impending sniff, because you could never go wrong with a sniff, and waited patiently on the elderly professor, who seemed to have something in her eye.

“Well, it’s…” Professor McGonagall stopped and looked like she was trying to get her teeth around a problem, which Sweetie thought might be a sign her dentures were loose, but did not say anything because it would be impolite.

“Good heavens, child!” the professor exclaimed after a few moments. “Change back before you put any more strain on my heart. Those eyes are dangerous!”

It took longer for Sweetie Belle to shift back into human form, mostly because McGonagall was watching her intently as if she were going to give her a grade on her transformation. Afterward, it took a few minutes to get stood back up on two feet and her wriggly toes stuffed into shoes. She had not been able to change the human shoes like the rest of her clothes, something that Galloway said would come with practice, so once she had her toes situated, she looked back up at the elderly professor.

“Much better, child.” The wand McGonagall was holding loosely gave a short twitch, and the opening at the top of Sweetie’s dress promptly tightened up and tied itself in a large bow, while the rest of the frills and lace straightened up like the dress had just been ironed and starched. “May I see your Animagus permit, please?”

Miss Galloway passed over the paper⁽*⁾ with the same trepidation that Scootaloo used when turning in her math homework, and Professor McGonagall looked it over much the same way as her teacher back in Ponyville. While Sweetie Belle considered how certain things were the same no matter how far you traveled from home, Professor McGonagall examined the permit for a time, then folded it back up and handed it back to the bashful Ministry employee.
(*) Since Sweetie had been having a few problems with her transformations, Galloway was holding onto the expensive permit so it would not get lost, or catch on fire, or both.

“Exceeds expectations,” she said. “There are a few minor anomalies that will need clearing up back in your office, but for now, Hogwarts’ newest exchange student is officially eligible for enrollment. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other things to do this evening.”

“No, don’t go!” Sweetie Belle stumbled as she scurried to get in front of the fast-moving witch and nearly took a two-footed tumble. “Can you stay for dinner, please? Since you don’t have to do the paperwork with my permit, you should have some extra time, and whatever they’ve been cooking smells yummy.”

When Professor McGonagall hesitated, Sweetie Belle had a burst of inspiration. “And I’ll bet all of the other people boarders would like to sit and talk with you, since you were their teacher at Hogwarts too.”

“Indeed, Professor,” said Timious, who seemed to speak for the group, or at least was the only one of them who could work up the nerve. “It’s been far too many years since we’ve had a chance to chat for a while, and Miss Selkirk has prepared a delicious—” The slender witch hesitated with a cautious glance at Sweetie Belle. “Um, dear? Are chickens intelligent where you come from?”

“No?” Sweetie thought about the concept of actually eating one of Fluttershy’s pet chickens, and while her stomach gave a little lurch, it also growled, which in Stomach language was an insistence that a chicken was just a very advanced egg, and should be fine for human consumption if prepared correctly. “I’m willing to try it, though,” she put forth cautiously. “After all, as an exchange student, I’m supposed to try all kinds of new things.” She wriggled her fingers. “And I suppose it can’t hurt, if chickens aren’t smart here either.”

A vast wave of chicken intelligence denial swept across the dining room as all of the boarders attempted to put in their own opinions that the species of fowl in question had less sense than rocks, and would starve to death if food was not shoved in front of its beak.

“Great!” said Sweetie Belle. “Let’s eat!”

7. First Impressions

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
First Impressions

Confusion made Sweetie Belle tangle herself up in the sheets as much as her awkward human limbs, the unfamiliar nightclothes, and waking up in a strange bed. Her fingers bent the wrong way and toes stubbed on everything, but she escaped the bed, gathered her wits about her on the bedroom floor, and headed for the bathroom for the next challenge. Even holding her toothbrush with both hands and making sure all of the teeth in her odd-shaped mouth were brushed was a new exercise in patience, which at least was workable due to human flexibility and some squinting in the mirror at the strange human making faces back at her.

Breakfast was already underway when she came downstairs, sliding some on the steps because her stockings only contributed to the unstable footing of being on only two legs. The Ministry humans were hustling around, checking their pocketwatches and getting ready for work with barely enough spare time to pat her on the head. In the middle of the chaos, Galloway promised that she would bring back some of the Animagus books from her department that evening for her to study in the relatively few days she had before school at Hogwarts was to start. Then the short witch had to hurry to catch up with her group, vanishing into the oversized fireplace with a cry of ‘Ministry Grate Fourteen’ to a suddenly empty house.

“In here, Sweetie,” called out Miss Selkirk from the kitchen. “I brought some of my daughter’s school books out so you can do some reading, as well as the Ministry’s old ‘So You’re A Wizard’ book from the Sixties. If nothing else, you’ll get a kick out of the clothes. Oh, and I made oatmeal. Do you like oatmeal?”

Sweetie dashed into the kitchen and slid across the waxed floor, which was one use that colorful socks were very good for. The oatmeal was more sugared than her sister Rarity ever let her flavor it, so she added another spoonful of brown sugar just because, and topped it off with minced strawberries. Miss Selkirk was doing the dishes with her wand, giving it little flicks and twitches that made the dirty dishes from the boarders take a quick splash under the faucet before vanishing into a box under the cabinet that she called a Muggle Dishwasher.

“Thank you, Sweetie.” Miss Selkirk gave one last twitch to her wand, which set the concealed mechanism to growling and hissing, doing whatever it did to clean the dishes. “It’s always such a rush before they head off to work. Well, I have some paperwork to complete while you’re reading,” she explained. “The house copy of the Daily Prophet is scattered around here, and you can see if the wand works for you now that I’ve warmed it up?”

She most certainly did want to try, although Sweetie still could not get the wand to behave any differently than waving a stick of the same size. She wiped her sticky hand off once all the fruitless waving was done and watched Miss Selkirk use the wand to bring several stacks of paper over to the empty table.

Sweetie loved to read. A few hours spent in a sunbeam with a book was a wonderful pastime, one that she shared with Princess Twilight Sparkle, although not nearly to the same intensity. And there was so much to absorb in this new place, from newspapers with actual moving pictures to all of Miss Selkirk’s old schoolbooks. They even made a trip upstairs to the attic nook where Miss Mouser, her pet owl lived. The lessons that Fluttershy taught her about caring for animals came in handy, so to say, as Miss Mouser nibbled an owl treat out of her palm and made several pleased noises in return.

“Oh, and we have a letter,” said Miss Selkirk, snatching the envelope away from the bottom of the small nook where a few dry owl pellets still needed to be swept out. “Silly bird, she doesn’t always bring them down in the morning because of all of the people bustling about.”

“Sometimes we don’t get the mail for days in Ponyville,” said Sweetie Belle. “Or if we do, it’s for somepony else and we have to go trade letters until we find ours.”

Miss Selkirk did not seem to be listening, because her eyes were darting back and forth across the page. “Oh, my. It looks like we have another school boarder dropping by unexpectedly. A relative of a relative of my—” she hesitated almost imperceptibly “—husband. I should have gotten this yesterday, silly old owl.”

Miss Mouser fluffed her grey feathers and settled back down into her interrupted nap while her two interlopers climbed back down out of the attic owlery. The rest of the morning was a blur of motion as Miss Selkirk used her wand to clean the house and tidy up the bedding of the two guest rooms. Then it was time to wait, because the letter did not say exactly how the new Hogwarts student would be arriving, and Miss Selkirk did not want to be waving a wand around if a Muggle were to walk through the front door.

“My husband and the Lilley family go way back, although we haven’t seen much of each other for years. We’ll give you each a room of your own, but if we wind up getting a Muggleborn boy here before school starts, I hope you won’t mind sharing your room with Sparrow. Hopefully we don’t get too many students, because I could never do an Undetectable Extension charm on the house to add another bedroom on this short notice.”

“Did the Lilley family go to Hogwarts school too?” Sweetie Belle put a finger in ‘Hogwarts - A History’ to keep track of her place.

“Oh, a few of his bunch did, for a couple of years at least. Some were taught by their families and some by one of the locals. I don’t think there’s a town full of wizards in all of Ireland that doesn’t have an aspiring know-it-all retired from somewhere who makes the odd galleon or two teaching students on weekends. It doesn’t take a Hogwarts education to raise a powerful wizard. Helps a lot, but some of the weediest looking runts with hand-me-down wands have defeated the Ministry’s finest gentlemen.” Miss Selkirk gave a low chuckle. “Of course, the Ministry doesn’t send just one Auror after a powerful troublemaker.”

Instead of the doorbell ringing as they expected, the fireplace in the other room gave out a low whoosh of Floo powder and two sets of footfalls could be heard on the dining room’s wooden floor.

“Donna? Miss Selkirk?” sounded a deep, friendly voice.

“Coming!” Sweetie followed the middle-aged woman into the dining room, where she was greeting two humans who had just stepped out of the fireplace. “You must be Ruadh Lilley and Sparrow.”

The way Miss Selkirk rolled the beginning of his name made it sound more like ‘Rrrruadah’ to Sweetie’s ear than the name had looked on paper. It suited him, because at first glance, the stocky man looked like he sounded, projecting a warm sense of friendly affection for everypony. A second, longer look showed a number of scars that were mostly covered up by a long-sleeved sweater, except for a thin white line down the curly red hairs of his bearded cheek.

Sweetie had seen enough humans so far to know that Miss Selkirk was about average size for her age, while most males tended to be taller than her. Ruadh was not so much short as compacted into a denser form, with broad shoulders and a stocky neck, making him barely come up to Miss Selkirk’s shoulders.

Sparrow was very much the opposite, looking just as young as Sweetie Belle but quite nearly taller than her uncle, with no signs of slowing down. Her arms stuck out of sleeves that she had outgrown already, and her blue trousers showed much more sock than Rarity would have ever tolerated in any creature who wore pants, so it was possible that Sparrow had undergone a recent growth spurt.

Both uncle and niece had red hair, although Ruadh’s dense curls were cropped short both on top of his head and his square chin, while Sparrow’s longer curly hair hung down just past her ears, tinged at the front with a yellowish highlight that could not have been natural. There was a lot of Rarity’s influence in Sweetie Belle, because the first thing that she thought of was how to properly style and curl that tempting length of human hair into an appropriate mane, and if the uncle could be persuaded into growing his tight curls out for similar styling also. Admittedly, it could be as difficult as taming Pinkie Pie’s wild mane back in Ponyville, but both of them had a hidden beauty that just sang out to Sweetie, begging to be set free with a few hours in a spa.

“Call me Rudy,” said the hefty redhaired man, who stifled a chuckle at the way his niece was still vigorously shaking Miss Selkirk’s hand. “And who is your young friend, Ma’am?”

“I’m Sweetie Belle,” said Sweetie, extending her hand only to have Sparrow grab it with both hands and shake.

It was a lot like a Pinkie Pie introduction, since Sparrow promptly followed the handshake with a long string of words that encompassed her life history, how cool traveling by Floo powder was, how much she was looking forward to going to Hogwarts, if they had dragons there like her uncle’s house, how she wanted to get a broomstick all for her own, and if Sweetie had a wand.

“Calm down, little lady,” said Ruadh when he managed to find a spot to squeeze into the one-sided conversation. “Miss Selkirk, on behalf of the Lilley family, we owe you a debt of gratitude. It’s a busy season in the northlands. Something’s got the Welsh Greens all riled up, an’ a bachelor's home out in the hills is no place for a proper young lady.”

Sparrow stuck her tongue out from behind her uncle Ruadh’s back.

“We really did not get much information about your niece in the letter,” said Miss Selkirk. “I hope everything is all right at her home.”

“Nothin’ too serious,” said Ruadh. “My brother got caught on base during a security lockdown, on account of some trouble the Yanks have stirred up. So instead of him this mornin’, I moved me schedule around and dropped over to give my favorite niece a lift.” He lowered his voice and put on a conspiratorial tone. “I’d let her stay with me for a few days until the Hogwarts Express is ready, but I’m afraid she’d frighten the dragons.”

“Uncle Rudy!” Sparrow balled up her hand into a fist and hit him on the shoulder, which did little more than raise some dust from his thick coat.

“One of my friends is a dragon,” blurted out Sweetie. “He brings my sister chocolates, which she can’t eat because she’ll get fat, so she just eats the caramel ones and lets me have the rest of the box to share with my friends.”

After saying it, Sweetie noticed Ruadh giving her a questioning look. It was a little confusing because Spike had told her all about dragons in Ponyville, and she had even met Dragonlord Ember, so there must have been something different about them in this world. Maybe dragons didn’t even like chocolate here, or disliked having their spines scratched.

Ruadh shook off his momentary confusion and took a small key out of his pocket for Miss Selkirk. “Anyway, my niece doesn’t have any of her Hogwarts things yet either and I’ve got to get back to work. I’d be obliged if’n you would pick them up for her too. You can have access to my vault, since my brother didn’t send much in the way of wizarding money on account of… well…”

“Dad’s a Squib,” said Sparrow. “That means he don’t have much magic, and my mother doesn’t have any, since she’s a Muggle.”

Ruadh shook his head. “She knows, dearie my lass. And you should be a little more discreet when discussing wizardly matters.”

“Sorry, Uncle Rudy.” Sparrow rolled her eyes behind her uncle’s back, but gave the human a kiss on his cheek when he turned to go.

“Thank you again, Miss Selkirk. And stay out of trouble, Matchstick, if you can,” he cautioned, vanishing into the fireplace with a green blaze of Floo powder just like the house’s boarders.

“Well, that was interesting,” said Miss Selkirk, tucking a bit of her loose hair behind her ear. “Sweetie, why don’t you show Sparrow upstairs to her room, and then the three of us can go shopping this afternoon.”

Sparrow squealed with joy and practically towed Sweetie Belle up the stairs.

- Ω - -

Shopping was awesome! Rarity had taken her little sister all over Equestria to some of the biggest cities there were, or at least that was what Sweetie Belle had believed until now.

London made them all look tiny by comparison.

It had malls bigger than her hometown of Ponyville. And people wore all kinds of clothes everywhere and for every occasion. Admittedly, the malls did not have the kinds of clothes that Miss Selkirk said were worn as school uniforms in Hogwarts, but by the time the three of them had finished with shopping for the rest of the casual Muggle clothing they were going to need for school, Sweetie Belle had found a friend.

She just wasn’t too sure Sparrow Lilley had found her as a friend in return. The human girl was full of energy, but it went everywhere. They bounced together from outfitter to outfitter to get matching knapsacks (despite Sweetie Belle still having the one Professor McGonagall Transformed for her and the mottled brown and tan one that Sparrow had brought with her), to visiting a video game gallery filled with a cacophony of sound and overwhelming flashes, to sampling snacks at the food court, to begging Miss Selkirk to let them visit the stables in London in order to see the horses.

The trip was a side-effect of telling the hyperactive girl about Sweetie Belle’s unicorn-ness, because the questions came even faster afterward. She wanted to know everything about Equestria and Ponyville and Sweetie’s friends there, and the horsey surroundings of the stable were supposed to be the perfect place to do it.

Sweetie Belle was a lot more interested in the Earth horses. They were huge, larger than Princess Celestia even, although dumber than any Equestrian animal, and not for eating, as Miss Selkirk was very specific about pointing out. The horses did seem to recognize Sweetie’s base equine nature, and were more than willing to share a warm slobbery nuzzle, as well as remain placid and calm while the two girls took a short ride. It was an experience even stranger than standing in front of the Wizengamot, and a lot more fun. And although she wanted to shift into her unicorn form after the brief ride and repeat the course, just to tell the differences in how it felt, Sweetie restrained herself.

Restraint was not a word that Sparrow Lilley knew very well, but she could certainly talk her way into or out of things with ease. After their trip to the human stable and horseback ride, she managed to convince Miss Selkirk into going to another mall where they saw a human movie instead of just going back to the boarding house.

Patience was another characteristic Sparrow lacked. She even got up three times during the movie to use the bathroom or get more popcorn, missing the place where the monster went racing through the town, eating cars and helicopters. It bothered Sweetie more than the violence of the movie, although that bothered her too. Even the games the humans played were full of violence, like the small collection of video games in the movie theatre lobby where humans shot electronic aliens, zombies, and weird things she could not describe in her quick notes to her friends in Equestria.

The difficulty in putting her experiences into words lasted after they returned to the boarding house for sandwiches before bed — tomato and cheese for Sweetie Belle and cold cuts for Sparrow Lilley — leaving Sweetie with the pen in her mouth, pondering an empty page in the magic diary.

“Hey, Ponygirl!” Sparrow bounced into the bedroom and dropped onto the bottom bunk of the bed next to Sweetie Belle, rump-first. “What’cha up to?”

“Writing back to my friends in Ponyville. What?” added Sweetie. “Why are you giggling?”

“It’s just… Ponyville? That’s like having a town called Humanville. Anyway, I don’t have a plug in my room. Is there one in here?

“Plug?”

“For my laptop computer.” The human girl opened up the flat black bag and produced the strange device. “The batteries are almost dead, and there’s no phone in my room, so I can’t get online. It’s like living in the stone age.”

“Oh, neat!” Sweetie Belle ran her fingers over the device while listening to Sparrow describe what each part did and how cool it was. Afterwards, she rested her fingers on the keys and pretended to ‘type’ out what she had been writing to her own friends. “So how many friends do you talk to on this computer thingie?”

“Dozens. We’ve got this guild on Ultima Online and all kinds of crafters, but most of them are old and just sit around and talk all day instead of going out and slaying dragons or exploring dungeons because of the lag and bugs.” Sparrow held up an odd piece of metal on the end of a cable. “I’ve even got an adaptor for the weird British power, but no phone. I wonder if they have phones in Hogwarts.”

Sweetie Belle perked up. “I know what a phone is. Twilight Sparkle talked about them, only the human world she went to is different than this human world, so maybe the phones are different too, I suppose.”

Sparrow dug a small device out of her pocket and opened it up. “Like this?”

“Wow.” Sweetie picked it up and turned it over a few times, looking at the screen and the tiny keyboard full of human letters. “Twilight said you can call anybody in the world or send them messages like my book, only better. How many friends do you talk to on this?”

“Lots.” The young girl took her phone back and began poking buttons. “Most of the time, I just text my parents because it’s expensive. Here, I’ll tell my mother I’m back at Miss Selkirk’s house.”

The tiny letters of the message showed up on screen, followed shortly by her mother’s short response, “Lv you BB gurl. B gud4skul.”

“Neat.” Sweetie Belle squinted at the screen. “What language is that?”

“American. She said she loves me, and that I should be good at school.” Sparrow made a face. “She’s probably still on base, messing around with the flight crews. They won’t let her fly anymore since she’s a couple months pregnant. I thought that would let us spend more time together, but she’s been catching up on training and working on all the ground stuff so they won’t keep her grounded after my brother is born.”

“She can fly?” Sweetie Belle wrinkled up her nose while thinking, but the phone chimed again before she could ask about the obvious contradiction.

“Hey,” said Sparrow, cheering up as she looked at the tiny screen. “She says my dad might be able to get off work a few hours tomorrow morning to help us shop for our wizard stuff. That’s cool!”

“Cool’s good, right?”

“Yeah, cool’s awesome.” Sparrow gave Sweetie a light punch on the shoulder. “You’re cool. Miss Selkirk’s kinda cool. I dunno about this Hogwarts place yet, but it has to be some kind of cool or all the Brits wouldn’t send their kids there.”

“Miss Selkirk has a book on it,” chirped Sweetie Belle. She bounded out of the door with Sparrow close behind, located the thick tome in the spare bedroom’s stuffed bookshelf, and pulled it out with a grunt. “History of Hogwarts,” she announced proudly, flopping it open to her bookmark a few chapters in. “Maybe we can read it tonight and you can tell me what all the strange human terms are.”

“Pass!” declared Sparrow, although she poked through the bookshelf too, eventually turning away with a scowl. “Not even any comics. Well, I better hit the hay, then. ‘Night, Sweetie.”

“Goodnight, Sparrow.” Sweetie Belle watched the slender girl bounce down the hallway and into the other spare bedroom, feeling more than a little let down. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom used to love to stay up at night and read when they stayed over, although they always did more talking than reading. Still, Twilight Sparkle had taught Sweetie about the differences that made friends even closer, and there certainly were a lot of differences between them, as well as similarities. She had a whole year in the human land, so there was not really any rush.

Even so, it felt like a little slice of home to bring the heavy book back to her bed and read about Hogwarts history. There were so many witches and wizards who had struggled to bring order to the chaos of that time, and Sweetie hid the book under the covers when Miss Selkirk came by to tuck her in and blow out the lamp. Once she was sure there was not going to be a surprise return to make sure she was really sleeping, Sweetie got the history book back out and resumed reading. Without a light source, she had to shift back into her unicorn form, which was a more natural way to read in the dark anyway.

Somewhere several chapters further in, the book became too heavy to hold, and Sweetie Belle slipped off to sleep, imagining the sounds of her friends chattering away in the background.

- Ω - -

Theodore Nott had set his alarm. He was quite sure of it, because the spell controlling his squat garden-gnome clock had required recalibration last night for his new location, and he had been forced to estimate some of the settings. His room in the crystal castle was supposed to be secure, but he had put an entire set of security spells across all the windows and doors anyway to ensure no witch or wizard intruder could possibly—

Oh. Ponies.

The faint rustling that had woken him continued, mixed with a quiet clunking from the bathroom area of his suite. One thing for certain, the Equestrians believed in size for their guests, both by the two smaller beds they had pushed together to make sufficient space for his larger frame and the cavernous quarters he had been assigned. It was larger, better illuminated, and far cleaner than anything the Slytherin House had managed in the dungeons of Hogwarts, larger in fact than the entire first year boys dormitory, but inhabited by far different creatures.

Theodore opened one eye.

Two large emerald eyes gazed back, filled with curiosity and eager anticipation. The young pony they belonged to was a feathery pale green, with a coat nearly the shade of a fluorite-coated telescope lens and carrying much the same translucence. All of the rest of the hairs on her body mirrored the shimmering effect, from her long lashes to her tail and mane, which had been curled and primped until it was nearly a hat of its own perched on top of her head. Theodore had seen the ‘crystallizing’ effect in other ponies around the castle, supposedly a simple surface refraction caused by magic, but to observe it at such close range on a tiny pony with an unbelievable cuteness level held him transfixed with wonder.

The foal’s dainty mouth opened in a silent ‘oh’ as she watched Theodore, then she turned and called, “Mama, the human is awake.”

A second voice, much older but with the same exquisite musical pitch of the ponies, floated out of the bathroom. “Don’t disturb him, dear. I’m almost done with the towels.”

The adorable young face turned back to Theodore, and after a few more moments of intent observation, the little filly asked, “Am I disturbing you, sir?”

“No,” managed Theodore. He yawned and sat up in bed, although he abruptly pulled his silky sheets up around his chest. “Where’s my nightgown! Where are my shorts!” At least his wand was still under the pillow where he had put it, and a quick ‘Accio shorts’ spell brought most of the contents of his underwear drawer cascading across the bedcovers in a vibrant display of colors. He grabbed a pair of red plaid flannels and had just started putting them on under the blankets when a pale pink mare trotted out of the bathroom and stared in horror at the mess.

“Fluorescence!” she scolded. “What did you do?”

The accusation made the little filly’s eyes grow wide and tears start to form. “I’m sorry, Mama!”

“Don’t… Just a moment, ma’am,” managed Theodore while trying to get his other leg into his underwear while staying under the blanket. “Something stole my shorts last night.”

“Oh, no!” The pink mare’s shimmering eyes grew even larger than her daughter’s, and Theodore could feel something deep in his chest give out a sharp twang. “I’m sorry, Mister Nott!” she blurted out. “It’s just you went to bed in your clothes and were getting them all wrinkled, so we whisked you out of them and sent the whole bunch off to be laundered. I’ll get these cleaned up right away, sir, and I promise we won’t take your clothes any more. It was just a misunderstanding, sir. Please don’t be angry with us.”

She nervously chattered on while scurrying around the room, collecting the loose underwear that Theodore had scattered with his spell and… packing it back into his luggage all neatly folded, which she had somehow managed using only her mouth and what he had first assumed to be clumsy hooves. In moments, she had chivvied her foal out of the room while still apologizing, leaving Theodore still awkwardly trying to get his underwear on while in bed.

A little less than an hour later, after Theodore had finished his leisurely morning routine, including making sure all of the potions he had brewing were still in order, bathroom necessities complete, and most of all, pants were acquired, he considered his options. Obviously, his hosts had gone through great effort to retain a human for this sensitive task and provide servants for their employee, so simply throwing up wards to keep out the pony maids would be an overreaction. And they had stayed out of the alchemy lab Theodore had set up next door, so perhaps even the curious foal was worth a little trust.

A curious little pony foal, too. Not just from the pale green coloring or the fascinating crystal shimmers across her coat. There was something else about her, something both obvious and hidden, and well-worth investigating until he could satisfy his itching curiosity. But for now, his focus should be on the main reason he was here, and that meant research.

Stacks of the pony work journals from the clearance team had been placed just outside of the impromptu alchemy lab, which he moved inside his working space and rearranged some more to make a comfortable reading spot. Surprisingly, the pony translation spell he had gained when coming through the portal covered both the griffon scratching and the ornate unicorn script equally well, allowing Theodore to settle down in some cushions and begin catching up with where he should have been in the investigation.

“Peas, fetch me breakfast. Orange juice, two eggs,” he ordered before remembering that the House Nott elves were uncountable miles away.

“Yessir,” came an unexpected voice from outside the doorway to his side room, followed by the quiet clatter of hooves as whoever had been lurking there departed. He read for a while, making a few notes and marveling at the scope of Sombra’s expertise before the sound of the hooves returned, along with the scrawny unicorn from yesterday.

“W-will this be sufficient?” asked New Leaf, who hesitated at the doorway much like a pale bluish-green chunk of ice, frozen in fear. There was a platter hovering in his blue magic aura, containing a considerable amount of breakfast food not simply limited to a pair of eggs. “I didn’t know if you wanted them poached or scrambled or over easy or cooked hard or—”

“Come here,” said Theodore as calmly as he could. After all, there was no need to intimidate the poor thing, since he was self-intimidating already.

Picking one of the plates off the platter, Theodore stabbed two of the over-easy eggs and claimed a glass of juice, which was somewhat orange, but did not smell anything like he expected.

“It’s crystalberry juice,” explained New Leaf. “We’re far enough north that we don’t have orange juice as a rule, but if you want, we can send—”

“Sit,” said Theodore, settling back down on his cushion and wondering if the pieces of brown material on the platter was really a few rashers of bacon, or just something horse-related. He nabbed a piece anyway, on the grounds that if it tasted good and did not harm him, it really didn’t matter what it was. “Toast?” he added, picking up two slices of lightly browned bread.

“Yes, sir.” The unicorn sat down on a cushion and reluctantly filled his own plate. The way Leaf’s ribs protruded from his sides indicated a long period of near-starvation, to the point that back on Earth, the unicorn would have been called an old nag, and a number of elderly witches with long noses and discouraging expressions would be inquiring about his diet.

“Eat,” added Theodore. After all, he had used a quick poison-detection spell while the unicorn was bringing in the platter, and nothing showed as dangerous to a human. It could be considered paranoid, but his great-uncle had always said the graveyards were filled with people who had been insufficiently cautious, and to care about being called paranoid, one also had to be alive. Then again, his great-uncle had thrown his lot in with Lord Voldemort and died during the fighting, so some skepticism about his advice was warranted.

“Sir?” The unicorn blinked his abnormally large blue eyes, but after a period of apparent confusion, took a hesitant bite of runny eggs.

“Last night after dinner, Granite Peaks told me to watch over you,” said Theodore in just as stern a voice as he could muster. “He’s taking a break by checking over the older cleared laboratories this week, looking to see if there’s anything the teams missed. While he’s doing that, my job is to get both of us up to speed on the various booby-traps, curses, jinxes, and general mayhem that your former king left behind. Thankfully, the two teams documented their work.”

Theodore tapped on the top of the thick stack of journals. “Unthankfully, they documented their work too well at times, and I’ll need your help to sort through the comments. Plus, since you have experience with Sombra’s spells, we’ll need to break down what avenues of exploration will benefit us the most, which buttons not to push, and things like that.”

“Yes, sir.” The young unicorn’s eyes seemed drawn to the collection of cauldrons and flasks bubbling away on various tables around the room, and he asked, “Will you show me how your world’s alchemical process work also?”

With a confidence that he really did not feel, Theodore responded, “Absolutely. Perhaps there will be something between our magics that can rescue your lost comrades.”

- Ω - -

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Sparrow Lilley bounded into Sweetie Belle’s room and flung open the curtains, which let in a little more light, but not much since the next building in the row of cottages was only a few feet away.

“You missed most of breakfast, but we saved you some eggs and all of the Ministry people just took off so we need to get going so we can meet my dad and go shopping for our wizard stuff! So come on!” The young girl snatched off the blanket and gave an awestruck gasp, although Sweetie Belle tried her best to hoof the covers back over her head.

“You are a unicorn!” Sparrow’s awestruck grin rapidly turned into a frown. “Aaah, I can’t take a picture for my mom and dad because of that stupid wizardly secrecy thing.”

It really did not matter, because Sweetie managed her transformation back into human form in the middle of a yawn. “Breakfast?” she asked.

Sweetie Belle was still getting used to this strange world’s idea of breakfast. There were no green grass pancakes or alfalfa seed bagels in the collection of items on the table, but there were beans. Lots of beans. The last of the sausages had already been claimed by Sparrow, but she did leave one of the tasty ‘rashers’ and two half-cooked eggs, which were fairly good, and the toast was still toast. She was still nibbling on one slice with red currant jelly when Miss Selkirk came bustling back into the kitchen and hurried the two girls out to the automobile for their second shopping trip.

This trip was for a place called ‘Diagon Alley’ which was where they were going to buy all of the magical bits and baubles of the wizarding variety, much like their trip yesterday was to pick up more mundane clothes and feminine products that Miss Selkirk insisted on.

Being a human was more complicated than it seemed. Plumbingwise, if nothing else. Also with the odd straps and cups involved in bras which really did not do anything at all, but which Miss Selkirk had been adamante about her wearing. And shoes, which came in practical flats, speedy trainers, leather (from cows!) formals, and a set of boots for tromping around in the mud. The spike heels, which were nearly impossible to walk on, they left on the shelf until Sweetie was a little more stable on two legs. Miss Selkirk said that would happen when boys became interesting, which was a lot of years ahead.

Automobiles were another perfect example of the world’s complexity. Miss Selkirk’s Volvo was a squat thing compared to pony wagons, and pulled itself by way of a purring motor that was considerably more powerful than the magical boxes that moved pony floats in parades. Wizards had little or no need for cars, since they traveled long distances by Floo powder and other magical means, but transport for the boarding house students was a special case. Miss Selkirk provided temporary housing for young Muggle-born boys and girls, as well as a neutral place during the school year where they could meet with their friends or relatives who were not privy to the wizarding secrets. To that end, she had a number of Muggle items including a Volvo car, and on days when more mundane visitors were scheduled, the magical boarders would keep a low profile.

Many days of traveling in a Scootaloo-propelled wagon had prepared Sweetie for automobile velocities, even though nothing could have prepared her for this morning’s chaotic experience. Ponyville streets did not have other high-speed wagons zooming around, making random turns and rapid sprints through traffic. Miss Selkirk’s Volvo did not dart and weave across sidewalks and between lampposts the same way the Ministry of Magic car had, but it was still quite exciting enough for Sweetie to be glued to the window, watching the strange world of humans flow past in stops and starts.

Sparrow did not match her enthusiasm for looking outside, but kept mostly to herself. She had managed to charge her phone on the only plug in the house by competing with the toaster, so she should have been happier, although she kept worrying a tuft of hair around one ear while watching her phone like a hawk. It gave Sweetie an urge to get out a manebrush and try to untangle Sparrow’s short hair, much like when Scootaloo had her morose times and needed a little comfort brushing.

“We’re almost there.” Miss Selkirk craned her head and looked around, seemingly frustrated by a lack of car-sized spaces to put the Volvo into. “If I can find a parking spot.”

“Daddy texted me that he took off work a few hours this morning,” said Sparrow, still looking at her phone. “He’s supposed to meet us at the Leaky Cauldron, but if he’s not there, we’re supposed to go on and shop without him. Did Uncle Ruadh leave you enough money, Miss Selkirk?”

The Volvo stopped with a sudden jolt to avoid running into the car in front of them and Miss Selkirk muffled a sharp curse. Sweetie Belle’s hard-learned lessons with her Equestrian friends meant she knew this was a bad time to distract the driver, so Sweetie held her hand over Sparrow’s mouth until the car was wedged into a narrow space alongside the street. Her conversation-blocking gesture seemed to be a universal signal that worked as well for humans as ponies, without the indignity of accidentally leaving grass or dirt on a friend’s mouth when done.

From there, it was only a short walk to their destination. Sweetie could smell The Leaky Cauldron from the sharp tang of alcohol before they saw it, although the doorway into the dark interior tried to hide whenever she looked straight ahead. There were so many other distractions on the street, from the blinding array of automobiles to the similarly different people strolling around that it was difficult to remind herself about their goal of Diagon Alley.

Particularly when she spotted a used book store right next to the bar. Sweetie made a note that when they returned this way, some of those books were coming with them.

Moving out of the hustle and bustle into the darkness of The Leaky Cauldron was a shock, which made Sweetie Belle instinctively try to light up her horn. At first, she thought it had worked because of the glow that surrounded the three of them, only it turned out to be the heavy flashlight hanging from Sparrow’s schoolbag blazing into light instead.

“Oops,” she said, fumbling with unfamiliar fingers against the aluminium tube, trying to find the switch. “Sorry, Sparrow.”

“That’s cool,” she replied, ignoring Sweetie almost totally while looking around at the inside of the human-packed building. “So cool. I never thought I’d see a real British pub.”

“Yes, it is,” said Miss Selkirk in a low voice. “Now, Sparrow. Is your father here already?”

There did not appear to be anypony… that is anybody in the pub who looked like Sparrow, or even her uncle from yesterday. Most of the humans drinking at the bar looked far, far more dark and gloomy, sulking behind a tankard or scowling at the new arrivals as if Sweetie and her companions had interrupted an interesting discussion. It was certainly not a place like the inside of Ponyville’s tavern, where everypony knew everypony else, and nopony who walked through the door could possibly be a stranger for longer than it took for them to hang up their hat and accept a free cider from one of the regulars. These tankards looked far more battered, as if they had been put to an alternate use, and so did all of the patrons. What was worse, there seemed to be a dark pall hanging over the humans here, as if each of them had built a metaphorical wall around themselves to keep out the darkness, but had accidentally caged it inside with them.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Sparrow, who finally quit looking around and took the flashlight away from Sweetie so she could turn off the switch. “Maybe we should have a beer and wait.”

“Not while I’m responsible for you, young lady. Or any other time, either. Just follow me and stay close until we get into Diagon Alley.” Miss Selkirk walked purposefully through the tavern with both girls close behind, headed for an open doorway at the back of the bar which was supposed to open up onto a different wizarding street than the Muggle road they had just come from. There was a large, shabbily dressed man blocking their path, and instead of stepping to one side as Sweetie expected, he glowered at the three of them with small dark eyes shaded by shaggy eyebrows.

“Miss, you might want to give us a few minutes. We’ve got a real dangerous bloke here, an’ wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“That’s… a boy?” Miss Selkirk craned her neck to one side and peered past the slouching human.

“It’s not a boy, it’s a Nott,” said the man. He chuckled in a low, gravelly tone that had no humor to it while pointing with his wand in the direction of the other humans out in the alley. “Notts are like nits and should be dealt with before they become lice.”

There were two other men in the alley, the thinnest of which was dressed in the same motley collection of patched scraps as the first, while the other was wearing a formal dark suit with a pleated shirt and pearl buttons, just as neat and prim as if he had stepped out of Rarity’s boutique. He was not looking very well, however, because his thick wire-framed glasses were askew over his wide, blinking eyes, and his bowler hat was resting on the dirty ground, looking slightly stepped-upon.

Next to the hat was a very small boy that Sweetie had overlooked at first. He also had a softer cloth cap and thick square glasses, and wore a black suit with creases just as sharp as the older man. He was most certainly not calm, because his face was screwed up into a fierce expression that resembled Opalescence at bath time, and seemed as if he was just about ready to bite the scroungy looking man standing over him.

“If my father were here—”

“He’d be right upset you brought a Muggle into the Cauldron, boy,” said the large man in the doorway, looking over his shoulder. “Everid there isn’t going to hex you much. Jus’ enough for you to remember what happens to You-Know-Who’s followers. Keep you honest, maybe.”

“Honest men do not hex the innocent,” snapped the boy.

“There ain’t no innocents here,” said the thinner man, although his eye seemed to be caught by Sweetie Belle’s shocked expression. “Save maybe those two. Lady, take your two brats and leave before something unfortunate happens.”

Miss Selkirk looked between the two men, then back at Sweetie and Sparrow. “I’m sorry, girls. Please move back into the bar. I’ll just be a minute.”

Sweetie moved back, although Sparrow remained in place, still holding her flashlight. “Is there anything wrong, Miss Selkirk?”

The young boy spoke first, in a series of sharp, cutting words, “These gentlemen have an unsettled debt with my father, and wish to take it out on me, since they are too cowardly to take their vengeance upon a bedridden old man tottering on the edge of his grave.”

“An underaged boy and a muggle. You are so brave,” snapped Miss Selkirk as if it were a vicious curse. Her fingers twitched near the wand in her sleeve, only to have both of the wizards point their wands at her.

“Not so fast, lady. We’re just gonna give this little snake something to remember when he’s in school, gettin’ all his schemes set up. Nuttin’ that the teaches can’t undo.” The slouching man at the doorway gave a gap-toothed grin. “Maybe.”

“Wait up there! Hang on, hold up, sir. We don’t want any trouble.”

A short man in a mottled green military uniform came up behind Sweetie, gently pushing her to one side behind a table as he passed. There was a certain polite inevitability to his motions, as if he could have just moved through the large man blocking their path and left a trail of booted footprints across his chest, except that would not have been proper. The red-haired man was smiling — at least on his face — but there was something deeper in his eyes that Sweetie had last seen in her own father when Rumble came to their house to help her with homework.

“Careful, Dad,” hissed Sparrow under her breath.

“Oh, really?” remarked the larger wizard in the doorway. With two adult targets to choose from, the shabby wizards let their aim wander, which seemed to suit Sparrow’s sizable father just fine. He moved up to just a step away from the first wizard and put on a warm smile with his right hand stuck out to shake.

“Yes, really. My brother tells me this business your country had with Voldemort—” he did not flinch, but both of the other wizards cringed back slightly “—is all over now. I wouldn’t have let my daughter attend Hogwarts otherwise, and I think having one of their new students accosted before school starts is not going to look very well. So why don’t the two of you put up your wands and I’ll treat you to a drink? My name’s Major Nel Lilley, by the way, but you can call me Nel.”

“You don’t talk like an Irish wizard. And yer dressed like a Yank,” said the larger wizard. He ignored Nel’s outstretched hand, giving a sneer and keeping his wand pointed in his general direction, although his skinny partner let his own wand sag to point at the floor and gave a surreptitious glance at the bar.

“Actually, I’m a squib,” said Nel. “All the wizarding got stuck in my older brothers. Ran out before my mother got to me, I suppose. So, how’s about that drink?”

“Ah don’t drink with squibs.”

The man’s wand rose to point at Nel’s smiling face, and Sweetie felt everything happen at once. Sparrow’s father moved in a blur, lifting a stick that appeared in his left hand and hitting the inside of the wizard’s wand arm with a sharp snap, then reversing his blow to bring the short stick up across the wizard’s forehead, all in less time than it took to sneeze. The other wizard began to raise his own wand only to have both Miss Selkirk and Sparrow’s Uncle Ruadah blast him with their own wands at exactly the same moment. Sweetie Belle had not even seen Ruadah move into the Leaky Cauldron’s main room, and a man that big should have been slower, like Big Mac.

“This one’s still got a pulse,” said Nel, checking the neck of the first fallen wizard and picking up his wand. “Got two sticks too.”

“So’s this one,” said Ruadah, who slipped forward and relieved the second unconscious wizard of his wands while keeping his own wand pressed firmly against a vulnerable throat. “Got three, actually.”

“Thought you said this place was safe, Red.” Nel Lilley collected the extra wands from his stocky brother and gave the small boy a friendly nod. “You okay there, lad? Are any of these wands yours or your friend’s?”

“No, sir. Not yet.” The boy’s intense dark eyes darted to one side where Ruadah was checking on the dazed man. “How is my Uncle Elliott?”

“Confounded, but not badly. We’ll sort ‘em out when the Ministry shows up.”

And if summoned by the words, several men in dark suits flashed into existence at the far end of the bar with quiet ‘whoosh’ noises. The wizarding version of teleportation was far different than Sweetie expected, because she had only seen a few unicorns who could teleport, and most commonly Twilight Sparkle when she was upset. Normally at her, or the Cutie Mark Crusaders.

This time for a change, Sweetie Belle was not in trouble, and thankfully neither was Miss Selkirk. There was a lot of talking, with some strenuous gesturing on Ruadah’s part before the Ministry wizards confiscated the wands and took the two unconscious men away. Then when the last ministry wizard was going to take the Muggle to somewhere called Saint Mungo’s for medical treatment, the boy objected. Loudly and repeatedly.

One ministry wizard, a rather rumpled human with red hair, caught Miss Selkirk’s eye and motioned her over, which barely left Sweetie enough time to find a place to ‘coincidentally’ listen to them.

“Donna, things have been popping all day long,” he protested in an obviously tired voice. “I’m covering for Hawkins, and I’ve got three other calls right now, so while I take the elder Mister Nott to get treated, could I impose on you enough to watch over Master Nott and see that he gets home—” The ministry wizard paused, obviously over a complication he had not thought of until just then.

“Pardon me,” said the small boy, who had found Sweetie’s concealment spot to be just as convenient to listen in on the conversation as she had. He took a step forward and removed his cloth cap. “Ma’am. Sir. If my uncle is to be treated at St. Mungo’s, as this gentlewizard insists, I shall be temporarily without a legal guardian. Uncle Elliot is the last of my immediate family available since my brother has gone off to study in someplace called ‘Equestria.’ I understand that you run a boarding house, Miss Selkirk?”

“Why… yes.” Miss Selkirk glanced across the bar where Sparrow was chattering a furlong a minute to her father and uncle without regard to any volume control. “I can see where you may have heard that. Are you needing a room for a day or two?”

“Yes, please. As well as an escort for today. I am on a very strict schedule to get my school things, or I would not have talked my uncle into this trip,” he explained. “Most of it can be purchased by owl if I am willing to put up with the potential for flawed merchandise, but I need to visit the bank and get my wand today at the very least.”

“I can take you to Ollivanders, Master Nott,” said Miss Selkirk. “And I’m certified as a boarder for Hogwarts students, so you can room at my house until your uncle feels well enough to pick you back up, or if it takes longer, I can bring you to the Hogwarts train.”

Nott looked Miss Selkirk up and further up before giving a brief nod. “That will be acceptable. Please make sure my uncle receives the best of care, Mister Weasley.”

The ministry wizard nodded. “I most certainly will. And try not to get into any more trouble today, Master Nott.”

Then there was a flicker of motion much different than Twilight Sparkle’s teleportation spell, and the two humans were gone, leaving only the small boy. He turned back to Miss Selkirk and looked up, as he practically had to.

“I saw the way you handled my assailant, Ma’am. Quite professional. I presume the young ladies are your other boarders?”

“Yes. Sparrow, the daughter of Major Lilley is over there,” said Miss Selkirk, pointing at where the two Lilley brothers were discussing the fight while the rest of the bar’s inhabitants gave them all wide berth. “And this is Sweetie Belle. She’s a foreign exchange student.”

“From Equestria,” volunteered Sweetie as she shook hands. The boy’s hand was cold, but not clammy as she had feared when she first took hold of it, and there were wiry muscles behind his grasp, along with sharply delineated calluses on his fingers.

The boy stopped shaking hands and put on a puzzled frown along with a series of rapid blinks that made him look vaguely owl-like behind his thick square glasses, but he did not ask the question it seemed he wanted to, because Sparrow took that moment to bound up to the two of them.

“Let’s get going so we can get all our stuff and take a break at the ice cream store my uncle told me about. Come on!”

8. Unnatural Commerce

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Unnatural Commerce

Of course, before Sweetie and her new friends could go shopping, they needed money. That meant a stop by the bank to get the kind of money the wizards used, something which Wycliffe Nott was willing to explain to both girls while the adults chattered among themselves. The relative worth of Galleons, Knuts, Sickles, Dragots, Sprinks, Bezants, Yonks, and Thuds⁽*⁾ seemed terribly complicated when Sweetie Belle had not even quite figured out just how to value Equestrian gemstones. Thankfully, only Galleons and Sickles really counted for buying things, and Knuts could be treated as an annoyance that tended to build up in the bottom of coin purses and be saved in piles of tins around the house.
(*) A Giant currency which never caught on, due to the immense size of boulders and the relative lack of smaller denominations.

Trying to make sense of the wizarding money was far easier than understanding the contents of the alleyway.

Up and down the street were all kinds of small shops and carts selling everything Sweetie Belle could imagine and more. Books and bats and broomsticks, candy and cakes and cauldrons, with traveling merchants selling watches and bracelets and rings. But under the cheerful calls and the bright paint there were scattered storefronts with dark shadows and empty windows, most likely a remnant of Voldemort’s legacy being slowly covered up like a tree used sap to heal its wounds. Even the bank at the end of the street bore silent witness to the devastation with scaffolding over several of the windows and tarps thrown across the roof, which bore distinct clawprints on the roof’s edge like an immense dragon had used it as a launching spot.

Wycliffe noticed the way Sweetie was staring at the building’s damage and answered the unspoken question she was trying to form. “No, the bank was not attacked. Some thieves broke into a vault, freed one of the security dragons, and used it to escape. It was in the Daily Prophet for weeks. That’s a newspaper,” he added in an overly polite tone.

“Cor and blimey.” Sparrow bounced on the toes of her trainers. “I’ll bet that was one—”

“Are you trying to use any kind of an English accent?” asked Wycliffe with one eyebrow raised just a fraction as he looked up at the taller girl. “Because if you are, you’re doing it wrong, and if you’re not, you’re doing it wrong too.”

“Oh.” Sparrow stopped bouncing and looked a little like a puppy who had just been swatted across the nose by a rolled-up newspaper. “Sorry. It’s just that everywhere I go, people expect me to sound like some pixie. You know, with the hair and the freckles.” She ran a hand across her face and wrinkled her nose up. “Coo, ain’t you a cute little fairy! Where’s your pot of gold, little lady?”

“Fairies have dragonfly wings, and leprechauns have pots of gold,” said Wycliffe, obviously not amused. “Not real gold, of course. You mu— I mean muggleborn are so ignorant of wizarding ways.”

“That’s why we’re going to school,” countered Sparrow, obviously undeterred. “If we knew everything already, we could just spend a year riding railroads all around Europe and making fun of the native customs.”

“Obviously, you’re an American,” said Wycliffe. “Why are you not attending the school in the colonies?”

“Because my mum’s assigned to Lakenheath. She’s a pilot! Only she can’t fly now since she’s preggers. M’dad says witches get brooms and can fly whenever they want, only they gotta stay out of sight of other Muggles or they get in trouble, a lot like Mom can get in trouble if she flies somewhere she’s not supposed to. I used to bug her about flying over the apartment when I was little since I love to see jets fly but she showed me once just how busy the air was with all the commercial airplanes and the military landing and taking off and Dad said that’s a good reason why all the witches have to keep their brooms close to the ground so they don’t get sucked up into a jet or something. Do witches really get sucked into jet engines?”

“What’s a jet engine?” asked Sweetie and Wycliffe at exactly the same time, and in harmony.

- Ω - -

Asking Sparrow about flying was a lot like asking Twilight Sparkle about magical theory. It seemed as if she could talk for hours about it and you’d be just as lost at the end as you were at the first word. It was too hard to pay attention to Sparrow’s chatter while walking up the steps to Gringotts’ bank front door when there were so many other things to watch, like all of the goblins at the doors and through the building, or the stream of other witches and wizards going in and out of the bank, and the way a massive metal cover slid down across the doorway behind her when Sweetie followed Wycliffe through it.

The thud of the steel plate coming down was overwhelmed by what must have been dozens of different-sized bells ringing while goblins scurried around. Goblins dressed in formal clothes dove behind the counters and goblins dressed in armor and all kinds of weapons came running out, one of whom was carrying a sandwich instead of his sword. The noise from the bells and clattering armor made conversation impossible, even with her hands over her ears like most of the rest of the bank customers were doing. Finally, a much larger goblin came out from behind the counter, likewise holding his long-fingered hands over his hairy ears and shouting something that was lost in the din until the bells cut off abruptly.

“—and find somebody to shut off… Finally!” The goblin came striding over to Sweetie and Wycliffe, arranging himself in front of the boy as if he had already determined the reason for the noisy disturbance. The big goblin looked a little like somebody had built a roughly spherical cloth shell with arms and legs, and glued a fat-cheeked face on top. His face seemed set in a permanent scowl while he looked Wycliffe up and down, the corners of his mouth turned down to nearly touch his chubby neck and his eyes narrowed into near slits. “A mere boy,” he scoffed in a voice so low he could have been mistaken for a rather large bullfrog.

“A customer,” countered the boy without changing his serious expression one bit. “I take it the bank is experimenting with a new security measure after your last theft?”

The goblin winced like he had been pricked by a very sharp sewing needle. “The security of the Gringotts vaults is legendary,” he croaked. “One incident does not—”

“Two,” said Wycliffe. “My father kept the The Daily Prophet clippings from eight years ago. Still, there is no safer place for House Nott to keep our money.”

“Indeed.” Dismissing the short boy for the moment, the squat goblin turned to look at Sweetie Belle with dark suspicious eyes. “The two of you children are to remain here. The enchantments we purchased for the portal are supposed to detect the Imperius curse, Polyjuice potion, or any other sort of disguise charm, but they’ve been unreliable and set off by just about anything. Weasley, get out here!”

“Percival is here?” asked Sweetie, perking up and looking around the lobby.

“Lord, I hope not.” A much taller human with shoulder length reddish hair came sweeping around the end of the counter and strode over to Sweetie Belle. He had a longer black overcoat than most of the wizards, with a great abundance of threadbare and patched pockets. The dark outfit still did not manage to keep all of the contents concealed, because all kinds of interesting twisted silvery wires and glittering crystal widgets peeked out from the buldges and bumps. The man’s face was much like his clothes, because it was covered with a mismatched set of ugly scars from one ear all the way down to his chin, which made his smile a little lopsided, but still warm and friendly. “Well, hello young lady. My name is William. Are you here to withdraw some money for your first year at Hogwarts?”

“Yes, sir.” Sweetie smiled and tried to figure out if humans shook hands when they were holding onto wands like Mr. Weasley was doing. It turned out not to matter when he shifted his wand into his left hand and shook anyway. His hands were soft and warm, but with a powerful strength behind them, much like the rest of his presence. “I’m Sweetie Belle,” she managed to say after a few shakes. “And this is my friend, Wycliffe Nott.”

Wycliffe made no move to shake hands, and the tall man did not either. The boy did give a short nod and spoke in a quieter voice, with much less of a commanding tone than when he had been speaking to the fat goblin. “Good morning, Mister Weasley. My brother told me about your family. I’m sorry to hear about your loss.”

William’s grip on Sweetie’s hand firmed suddenly to a crushing level, although it slacked nearly immediately afterward. “We all lost family at Hogwarts,” he said while the white lines of scars on his face thinned.

“We’re not paying you to chat, Weasley,” snapped the chubby goblin banker, whose voice thankfully broke the tense mood before it could grow any further. “Fix the detection enchantments before we lose any customers. And find out why these two set it off.”

“Yes, Mister Caputo.” William produced his wand again and waved it over Sweetie and Wycliffe several times, each time giving him a more disappointed frown. “I’m not picking anything up that could have set off the alarms, and yet the alarms triggered,” he added, waving his wand over the stone arch. “Do the two of you have any Dark artifacts in your pockets, or hidden wands?”

“Not yet,” said Wycliffe. “Miss Selkirk will be taking the three of us over to Ollivanders next.” There was a quiet thumping on the outside of the metal partition that had slid down over the bank doors, and Wycliffe rolled his eyes. “The chatty one is still out there.”

“She’s just going to have to stay out there until I can figure this out,” said William, who was giving the smooth stone surface of the arch his full attention with several thoughtful ‘Hmmms’ and the occasional wave of his wand. “It’s still acting like it detected significant transformation magic.”

“Oh!” Sweetie dug into her borrowed purse and produced the sole piece of paper it held. “I’m an amana… Animia… One of these. Do you think that’s the reason the machine made all the noises?”

“Animagus,” said William as he read the Ministry certificate she had passed over. “And no. You’re not an animagus, since you obviously are too young, and even if you were, an animagus transformation can only be detected by the spells while the wizard is in their animal form, because it detects active transformation magic. You’ll learn all about it in your Third Year classes. This form is a very convincing prank, though. Did my… Did George put you up to this? He’s been asking some strange questions about transformation magic as of late.”

“No, the nice ladies from Miss Selkirk’s boarding house helped me fill out my application and pay for it. Just a minute and I can show you. Professor McGonagall said it was—” Sweetie paused to take a breath while wriggling out of her shoes and dumping her knapsack on the granite floor “—techncially innate transformational magic that she did not really understand fully, so it didn’t really classify as an anima… animagus, but that was as close as the forms could get.”

“McGonagall, huh?” William had a way of pursing his lips up that looked almost exactly the same as when Rarity did not believe one of Sweetie Belle’s excuses. “Now I know you’re pulling my leg. Old McGonagall not understanding something in Transformations? Next thing, you’ll claim—”

It had taken more effort for Sweetie to change with all of the goblins and customers giving her sideways glances, but that was nothing compared to the abject amazement they all exhibited when she managed to shift into her natural form. Even William dropped his wand when he jumped back, and she heard one of the goblins give out a heartfelt ‘Dawww’ in the back of the bank before rapidly silencing himself.

“Merlin’s beard!” William scooped his wand back up while maintaining his wide-eyed staring at Sweetie’s horn, then the rest of her body, winding up looking at her cutie mark and adding, “Ginny would flip if she saw you. She’s been on this unicorn thing over the last year, and she wants a tattoo of one.”

“An animagus,” said the fat goblin with growing interest, along with a growing sharp-toothed smile. “I’ve never heard of a wizard or witch with such a colorful unicorn form.”

“I hadn’t either,” explained Sweetie, which made the rest of the humans and goblins in the bank startle again, with one goblin dropping an entire tray of golden coins.

“You can talk?” asked William, who was making another gesture with his wand.

“Unicorns cannot talk,” stated Wycliffe, although his voice sped up as he added, “That is our unicorns cannot talk. You said you were an exchange student from a place called Equestria—” A series of reactions crossed across the boy’s placid face, from shock to amazement to humor, ending in a very inexperienced snort and the hint of a rare smile, which looked good on him. “Equestria, where my brother has gone. I hope somebody took a picture when he found out.”

“Well, that’s all well and good,” said William, who had finished waving his wand. “Now, Miss Belle, if I could have you stand here under the arch. And… That’s good. Now if you could change back into—”

Of course the bells went off in a cacophony of chimes the moment Sweetie could feel her sock-clad toes on the cold stone floor of the bank. The hammering noise only lasted a moment, cut off by another swish of William’s wand and his cheerful voice. “There we go, Mister Caputo. I told you the detection spells would work as promised. Now, you two take care of your banking and I’ll reset the sliding portal.”

“It was very nice to meet you, Mister Weasley,” said Sweetie, who practiced her hand-shaking again.

“Nice to meet you too, young lady. Err… Or mare?”

“My sister says a lady is a state of mind,” said Sweetie in her most authoritative voice. “And that I should be as much a lady as I can while being a student here.”

“At Hogwarts?” When Sweetie Belle nodded, William made some sort of gesture that involved rubbing his eyes with his fingers and taking a very deep breath. “I am so glad none of my brothers are still there,” he murmured. “Anyway, say hello to my sister Ginny, and try to keep out of trouble.”

“Thank you, William!” Sweetie Belle gave the nice man a brief hug and ran off after Wycliffe, then doubled back to give the sizable goblin a hug too, because he was probably feeling left out. “Thank you too, Mister Caputo. I didn’t mean to make a fuss.”

“Think nothing of it.” The goblin smiled in a way that gave Sweetie a small chill up her back. “In fact, if you return here after you’ve gotten your wand, I think we can give such a polite young unicorn a sweet. Won’t that be nice?”

“Yes, sir.” Sweetie gave the large goblin a bob of her head because she still was not comfortable enough on two legs to curtsey. That thankfully reminded her to slip back into her shoes and pick up her knapsack before she darted off to Wycliffe, who was watching the whole thing next to a teller window at the other end of the room.

“A unicorn. A real unicorn,” mused Wycliffe.

“Miss Galloway said I shouldn’t show it off.” Sweetie Belle dropped her knapsack again and began rearranging her pinching clothing, which the transformation had not put back just exactly where they belonged. “Besides, it’s difficult to keep my clothes on during it. And this thing—” she got both hands under her shirt to twist at the tangled bra straps “—wants to tie itself into knots. Can you help me with it?”

There was a short pause, then Wycliffe reached under the teller window and pulled out a short stool, which he climbed up so he could see over the ledge to where the goblin banker was staring wide-eyed at the two of them. “Mister Trapspring, I need to make a withdrawal from the House Nott account for my schooling at Hogwarts,” he said while keeping his back firmly pointed in Sweetie’s direction. “Eighty-five galleons, six sickles and five knuts.”

“Of course,” said the goblin, who seemed to have his attention split between his customer and where Sweetie was rearranging her straps. “Does Master Nott have his key?”

The boy produced a small metal key and continued in the same authoritative tone of voice, “And be quick about it.”

“Very well, sir,” said Trapspring with a peculiar little half-bow that nodded his head without moving his eyes. “Will your young miss be needing funds from your account also?”

“Oh, no,” said Sweetie. She picked up her knapsack and moved up next to Wycliffe on the little stepstool so she could heave the heavy bag over the iron fence that separated them from the teller. “I need to turn some of my gems into wizard money and probably store the rest in Celestia’s account. My sister sent too many of them, I think. The key should be in the bag.”

The goblin staggered, since he had managed to catch the knapsack before it hit the counter, and opened up the flap with his long fingers. He spent at least a full minute looking into the bag before turning it over and watching the cascade of colorful gemstones cover his side of the teller desk.

Wycliffe made a small, squeaking noise, and his eyes got very large.

“Ah, there is the key,” said the goblin with a little more poking in the bottom of the bag, and after extracting Sweetie’s diary. “Vault… Eight.”

For some reason, the sounds of the bank suddenly grew quiet, but when Sweetie looked around, all of the goblins had dutifully returned to whatever bank-related task they were about before. Trapspring was likewise examining the small brass key with unusual intensity, eventually putting it down on the surface of his desk and getting out a magnifying glass for closer inspection.

“Hey, Ponygirl!” Sparrow Lilley bounced across the bank’s lobby and threw an arm around Wycliffe’s shoulders. “What gives with the door? One minute I’m following you along, and the next this hidden panel comes shooting down like something out of a movie. Did you try to rob the place or something?”

There was another momentary shortness of sound which did not seem to bother Sparrow in the slightest. She leaned up against the metal bars of the teller’s cage and gave a low whistle at the pile of gems spilling out of Sweetie’s knapsack there.

“Wow, that’s a lot of gems. How much of that will you need to turn into wizard money for school?”

“Eighty-five galleons, six sickles and five knuts,” whispered Wycliffe, “for a First Year, provided you do not purchase a pet and restrict your sweets intake to once per month or on special occasions.”

“But I like sweets,” protested Sweetie. “And does that include clothes?”

Wycliffe gave one nervous glance at Sweetie’s wrinkled and lumpy blouse where she had given up on getting her bra straps correctly lined up. Whatever had caused his momentary distraction had begun to fade away, and he was getting closer to the usual dry, solemn wit that Sweetie Belle was starting to appreciate. “It includes both sets of your everyday wear school robes and a set of formal wear, provided there have been no major price changes in the last few years.”

“I think I’m going to need money for more clothes.” Sweetie gave one last attempt at getting her elastic torture device to flatten out on her chest. “I mean I have to pay Miss Selkirk back for shopping at the Muggle stores too. That’s Muggle money, which is that heavy paper that isn’t heavy, right?”

“Pounds,” said Wycliffe, who had turned to examine a rather plain section of wall while Sweetie was fighting with her bra.

“What do you mean, everyday wear?” asked Sparrow. “I mean we don’t wear the same clothes every day, right? Miss Selkirk had us buy all kinds of things.”

“You wear those under the robes,” said Wycliffe, still looking intently at the wall. “Boys wear sensible slacks and shirts with sweaters, rotated daily so they do not wear excessively. And a tie, which will change to match whatever House you are sorted into. Girls wear… considerably more complicated outfits.”

“Wait a minute.” Sweetie gave up trying to get her bra straight and let Sparrow adjust it with several quick motions of her long, agile fingers. “You mean we wear clothes, under the clothes, we wear under the clothes? Are there clothes that go on top of the robes too?”

“Merely a pointed hat,” clarified Wycliffe, who seemed to take some comfort in their conversation. “Worn at meals and official gatherings. They’re quite out of style, but I suspect students will be wearing them for another century or two.”

“Wow.” Sweetie considered the revelation and the resulting consequences. “Maybe my sister would like it here after all. Anyway, do you think… a few hundred galleons would cover my expenses, Wy?”

“Wycliffe,” he corrected. “And four hundred should take you through any reasonable expenses until Winter’s Break, when you will most probably pass through London again and can indulge your feminine traits for acquisition.”

“Four hundred galleons, Mister Trapspring, sir,” chirped Sweetie at the goblin teller. “No, better make it five hundred.”

“And three hundred and twenty seven pounds for Miss Selkirk,” added Sparrow. “I kept track of it when we were shopping.”

Sweetie perked up and looked through the bars at the goblin, who was still spinning the small metal key in his long fingers. “Oh, and I better get five hundred pounds too so I can visit the bookstore I saw. That should do it. Do I have enough gems to convert into that much money, sir?” Her eyes flickered over to a few teller’s cages away where Sparrow’s father was bent over a cheque book with a quill, trying his best to write neatly. “If I don’t, Princess Celestia said I could take some money out of her vault, as long as it isn’t too much. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“I believe you have sufficient funds,” said the goblin. He brushed five of the larger gems into his tray, paused a moment, then returned one of them to the pile before refilling the knapsack. “The only question I have is if you have identification to prove you may access this vault.” He tapped the key against his table with small clicks. “You see, the account has been inactive for quite some time.”

Sweetie nodded. “A thousand years. Princess Celestia told me so. I really don’t know what kind of identification I could possibly… Oh, wait. Give me my book.”

The goblin passed the magical diary back under the metal bars and watched as Sweetie wrote a note to her friends. Trapspring was obviously conflicted from the way he kept frowning and trying to peek at what she was writing, but she understood what kind of responsibility it was to manage other ponies’ money. Silver Certificate, the banker in Ponyville, had once shut down the entire bank when the ledgers were off by a tenth-bit, and did not open it up for a whole day until the money was found, which was only kinda-sorta the Cutie Mark Crusaders' fault. Besides, the crack in the floor looked thin enough that the coin should not have fallen through it anyway.

In any event, Sweetie was not really prepared for when Philomena appeared in a burst of phoenixfire above her head. Neither was the banker goblin, but he did agree that the letter she carried, written in golden letters of fire and embossed with a glowing sun symbol, was proof enough that Sweetie Belle could access the Equestrian vault to store her remaining gemstones.

And he did not even blame her for the way all of the people in the bank overreacted to Philomena’s appearance and nearly trampled each other running out the front door.

“I don’t know why we have to actually go to the vault to watch them put the gems in it,” grumbled Sweetie Belle, although not with much enthusiasm. She had wanted to go running back out into Diagon Alley and explore all of the fascinating shops, but Wycliffe had insisted, and the tunnels under Gringotts’ bank were just about as interesting, in a wet and drippy fashion. And to make it worse, Philomena had taken one look at the tunnel and vanished in a flash of her fire, presumably returning to Equestria for a more comfortable warm climate.

“You cannot trust goblins,” said Wycliffe regardless of the goblin teller walking within arm’s reach as he led them through the dark corridor while apparently ignoring their conversation. “Within the limits of their agreement with wizarding kind, they will act as required, but one step beyond and you risk anything you entrust to their care.”

“Hogwarts - A History said that goblins had a strong code of honor,” countered Sweetie. “Stronger than humans at times. They never go back on their word, they never break a contract—”

“With goblins,” said Wycliffe. “With wizards, they must be always watched.”

“How about with humans, Mister Trapspring?” asked Sparrow, who had been watching the goblin intently.

The goblin teller nodded reluctantly. “We do not normally deal with humans due to the laws which were forced upon us by the wizards. But when we do, we strictly abide by the covenant. Promises must always be kept, and our word is inviolate.”

“So if you promised to give my father a good price on those gems and store the rest,” started Sparrow, “you would define the word ‘good’ as what is good for you, and ‘store’ as… something else.”

The goblin merely smiled, displaying a mouthful of sharp teeth.

“But,” added Sparrow, “if you promised on your word to give Sweetie what she would consider a good price…”

The smile vanished. “There is no need to bring a matter of honor into a simple business deal. We would be foolish to cheat a new customer from your lands,” he said with a sharp snap to his words.

Sweetie Belle was not really listening, because their progress through the corridor had opened up into a huge cavern of some sort, with curls and twists of brass rails heading in all directions. As far as she could see up or down and all around, there were doors in the walls, both large vaults that appeared to be made of gleaming steel and tiny little doors no larger than birdhouses, scattered in what seemed to be a random array across the vast space. What really riveted her attention was the carriage at the end of their walk, a strange thing that looked to be all wheels and chairs created by an insane pipefitter. Scootaloo would have loved it. Apple Bloom would have run away screaming. Sweetie… tried her best to examine it closely, because both of her pony friends would have no end of questions when she returned to Equestria.

“Wow,” gasped Sparrow, who had been following them without any real enthusiasm until this point. “Wizard banks have roller-coasters to get to your bank vault! This is the coolest thing ever!” She almost trampled Trapspring in her dash forward, leaping into the front seat and calling out, “Shotgun!”

“Depositors in the back, please.” Trapspring waited impatiently while the three of them rearranged their seating, then settled down in the small goblin-sized chair by the controls. “Stay inside the vehicle, please.”

“This is going to be so great!” gushed Sparrow. “Where are the seat belts?”

“What are seat belts?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“I don’t know why you’re so excited,” said Wycliffe. “My father took me here every year to get money out of his vault for Theodore.”

The odd vehicle glided forward on the parallel rails like a ship skimming along a perfectly placid pond, swooping up and diving down at a sedate pace. In about a minute or two of such graceful motions, including one spiral section where the body of the vehicle stayed perfectly stable while the wheels rotated around above them, it glided to a stop next to a rocky ledge in the underground maze. There was a moderately sized iron door a short distance away, which Wycliffe moved next to and tapped his foot while waiting for the other three of them.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered. “We’re behind schedule as is, and we still need to get the unicorn’s money.”

“Well, aren’t we the little sprinter,” grumbled Sparrow, whose glum disposition had returned over the course of their sedate trip along the goblin rails. “I’m not that enthused about your roller-coasters here either.”

“I thought it was really nifty,” said Sweetie, who wobbled a little getting out of the cart and might have tripped if the goblin had not given her a helping hand. “Thank you, Mister Trapspring. I’ll bet since so many of the wizards and witches here are old, they don’t like to be tossed around in loops and spins like a real roller-coaster, right?”

“That is correct, young lady.” The goblin walked up to the vault door and held his hand out. “Key, please.”

Wycliffe reluctantly produced his vault key, and took it back from the goblin just as soon as the door was unlocked. “I’ll need a full accounting when my father passes away,” he added as the door creaked open. “With my brother in another land, I will be the ranking member of House Nott.”

“Yes, sir.” The goblin remained outside the door while Wycliffe went inside, which let Sweetie move a little closer. She wanted to see what was inside, but the door swung nearly closed while she approached.

“Is Wycliffe’s father sick, Mister Trapspring?” asked Sweetie.

The goblin took a quick look at Sparrow, who was still poking around the cart and apparently looking for a higher gear for the return trip. “It’s not my place to say,” he eventually admitted.

“Does it have anything to do with Mister Voldermort?” she asked. “Because there were two men in the Leaky Cauldron who attacked Wycliffe, and he said something about his father was on his deathbed. Was he attacked too?”

Despite his perpetually stoic expression, the goblin appeared torn. He looked at the nearly closed door to the vault, then to where Sparrow was peering under the cart’s controls, before lowering his voice even further. “The elder Nott was a Death Eater, a close follower of You-Know-Who. He was mortally wounded in the attack on the Hogwarts school, nearly killed by a reflected spell.”

“It was his own doing,” came Wycliffe’s quiet voice from inside the vault. “All of the wizarding world knows, but I suppose Equestria does not get the Daily Prophet.” The door opened just a little more, and the small boy peered out at Sweetie. “My father did vile things in his life, terrible things. He was also my father, the man who showed me where the dewdrop fairies raised their young, how to properly conceal a bowtruckle nest from poachers, and how to free a divergaunt from stranglethorn. Yes, he was a Death Eater before I was born, and returned to Lord Voldemort’s service at the end, but I never saw that aspect of his life, and others never saw what I did.”

The small boy, looking even smaller now, stepped out from the vault, closed the door, and handed his key to the goblin. That was as far as he got before Sweetie Belle wrapped him up in a cautious hug. “I’m sorry,” was all that she could say at the moment, and even that seemed to perplex the smaller human. His hug in return was awkward, short, and ended in nearly a shove to get him free of the unwelcome embrace.

“That’s… fine,” managed Wycliffe. “I have to be strong. When my father inevitably passes away, and the doctors say that could happen anytime up to a year from now, the world will see the death of a monster. I will not.”

“Is he in the hospital?” asked Sweetie in as quiet a voice as she could manage, as not to disturb Sparrow’s attempt to disassemble the goblin cart. “Should we go visit him?”

“My uncle and I saw him earlier today,” said Wycliffe. “It was disturbing. You should not…” He swallowed hard and put one hand on Sweetie’s shoulder. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Your father was my first customer,” said Trapspring, seeming to be just as intensely embarrassed about the admission as Wycliffe. “I got lost on the way to his vault and we wandered around the rails for nearly an hour before I found it. He was furious, but did not say a word, because your mother was in the cart with him, and she treated the endless wandering as a romantic trip. She was quite compassionate and beautiful, for a human, and he would do anything for her. When he dies, I will not see a monster.”

“Then you are a fool.” Wycliffe passed the bag of coins he was carrying to the goblin. “Here. The light inside the vault was insufficient for me to count out my withdrawal.”

The two of them stood while the goblin counted coins into the boy’s trembling hands. Once the sum of eighty-five galleons and change were reached, there were still coins left for the goblin to hold while Wycliffe put away his withdrawal. “Keep them,” he said once the last coin had vanished into a small belt pouch that seemed far too small to hold all the gold. “In memory of my father.”

“Thank you, sir.” The bag vanished so quickly that Sweetie suspected some magic was involved. “I’ll make sure the accounting for your vault is done right,” added Trapspring. “The way your father would want it done. Shall we be off to the young lady’s vault now?”

“Actually…” Sweetie Belle took the diary out of her knapsack. “If it’s not too much trouble, could we go back to the lobby now? I can get my money for shopping today, and Mister Trapspring can put my gems into the vault while we’re getting our wands, then I can pick up Princess Celestia’s key on the way back. It’s a plan!”

Wycliffe opened his mouth as if to object, took a quick glance at where Sparrow was messing around with the goblin cart mechanism, and seemed to make an evaluation about the possibility of getting stuck on a broken cart a few miles into whatever ancient cavern the next vault was located.

“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly. “To Ollivanders next.”

- Ω - -

The argument began as soon as they had stepped outside of Gringotts’ bank and continued all the way up the street while they dodged around other shoppers and carts. Sweetie Belle stayed mostly out of it because she was too busy looking around at the fascinating wizarding things for sale and wondering if just perhaps she should go back to the bank and get out another handful of Galleons, just to be safe. Maybe two. Or three.

“You’re being completely… female,” said Wycliffe Nott in a tone of voice that was probably supposed to sound more adult and authoritative, but wound up just taking his pleasant soprano into a forced tenor register and made Sweetie wonder what he would sound like while singing.

“That’s because I am female,” countered Sparrow Lilley without breaking stride. “And I’m right. Everybody with red hair we’ve met so far — my family excluded — is a Weasley. I’ll prove it, once we find somebody else with red hair.”

Contrary to Sweetie's expectations, the small tea shop at the end of the street did not seem to have any red haired people seated at the tables scattered in front of it. The location seemed to be a comfortable place for older people to wait by the way the Lilley family and Miss Selkirk made themselves comfortable, and Ruadh gave a broad-handed gesture across the street.

“Aye, you go do that, lassie,” he rumbled while passing a menu to Miss Selkirk and Sparrow’s father. “G’won over to Ollivanders and get your wands while I treat my idiot brother and this beautiful lady for a cup of tea. Now, now,” he added in a mild chastisement ahead of Miss Selkirk’s objection, “you know Mister Ollivander is very particular about having anybody but the student around when he’s having them pick out a wand.”

“But…” Miss Selkirk pointed at the front of the store across from them, which was festooned with a freshly painted sign that read ‘Ollivanders - Makers of fine wands since 382 B.C.’

“Now, go on,” chided Nel Lilley. He gave his daughter a gentle push as he held the other hand across Miss Selkirk’s wrist to keep her from sprinting after them as she seemed to want. “We’ll be right here if you need us.”

As the three of them trudged across the cobblestoned street, Sweetie Belle could not help but lean down a little to whisper to Wycliffe, “Are you sure this Mister Olive-hander can find me a wand that works?”

Wycliffe nodded. “Father said Mister Ollivander could make a wand for a left-handed bowtruckle. He made regular visits to our lands, before I was born, that is, gathering wand materials and— Hey, what’s your friend doing?”

Sparrow had skipped along ahead of them in the direction of two young humans standing in the shade of a nearby building. They must have been very good friends because their arms were wrapped around each other and they were kissing fairly intently, so their new visitor went unnoticed until she spoke. Loudly.

“Excuse me, but is your name Weasley?” asked Sparrow with enough volume to be heard quite a ways down the alley.

“Whay?” The young red-headed human seemed set back, and looked back and forth around the alley several times before answering, “Yes, I’m Ron Weasley. So, you’ve heard of me?”

“No, it’s just that we’ve bumped into a number of people with red hair today, and they’ve all been Weasleys,” explained Sparrow. “Except me. Are you a Weasley too?” she asked the frizzy-haired young witch who was still wiping her lips with the back of her wrist and trying to arrange her rumpled clothing.

“Not yet, no,” she said. “I’m Hermione Granger. You’ve heard of me, right?”

“No,” said Sparrow. “My name is Sparrow Lilley, and you probably haven’t heard of me either. But you will.”

She then turned and skipped back to where Sweetie and Wycliffe were just opening the door to the wand shop, stuck out her tongue at them, and pranced inside. Wycliffe insisted on holding the door open for Sweetie, which she thought was very nice of him, and followed her into the shop, allowing the closing door to cut off one last alarmed-sounding question from the Weasley boy outside. “What do you mean, not yet?”

The wand shop reminded Sweetie of a library due to the rolling ladder that allowed the owner to retrieve boxes from the top shelves. It was a curious mixture of old and new, stacked nearly to the ceiling with pasteboard boxes most likely containing wands.

Or at least if this world did not have the strange pairing of products that Ponyville seemed to have on every street corner.

Some of the boxes were dusty and faded nearly enough to be from when Celestia was a foal, while a nearby table behind the counter was covered with fresh wands, still looking damp. The counter was a massive, blocky thing, covered in small tracks and scratches, with dark blotches of char marks and deep scorches much like Sweetie Belle’s kitchen table back home. Two of the fresh wands were sitting in the middle of the counter on a velvet pillow, which looked just as battered as the wooden countertop beneath it.

“There’s nobody here?” Sparrow bounded across the floor of the wand shop and leapt partway over the counter to look behind it. “Helloo!!”

“We’ll be right there!” sounded a voice from the back of the shop, combined with some smashing, a little bashing, and one loud crash. “Just a cluster of Whomping Willow twigs that got loose. Nothing serious.”

“It would appear they have set wands out for us to try already,” said Wycliffe. He stood on his toes and picked up one wand from the countertop, giving it a tentative wave. “Not this one. Or this one either,” he added with a brief wave of the second.

Sweetie picked up the first wand that Wycliffe had placed down on the counter and gave it a wave just like he did, with the same lack of results. “I guess this isn’t mine either,” she said with a frown. “It feels… weird, for some reason.”

“Let me try!” Sparrow bounced down to the floor and scooped the wand out of Wycliffe’s grasp, turning it in her long thin fingers with a grin. “Hey, it’s all springy, like Zoro. Ha!” she declared, taking up a fencing stance and waving it like a sword. “En gard! Souffle! French toast!”

“Don’t point it at us. It might go off,” said Wycliffe with a frown as he took the wand away from her and passed over the wand Sweetie was playing with. “Point this one over there and try it. Although it’s not really that dangerous, since we’re just students, and the worst we could probably do is sparks or—”

Sparrow took the wand while the smaller boy was talking and arranged her grip. Pointing it into the shop, she shouted, “Abracadabra!” at the top of her lungs…

And the wand exploded.

Sweetie Belle, due to her experience with the Cutie Mark Crusaders, managed to spot the upcoming blast just in time to tackle Wycliffe to the ground before the detonation that sent splinters of wood ricocheting around the inside of the shop and splattered little bits of sap against her back. Sparrow was not quite that lucky, and emerged from the resulting cloud of smoke coughing and hacking, with bits of wand wood sap-stuck to her face and t-shirt. What was worse, the explosion had not been limited to the defective (in Sweetie’s opinion) wand, but at least a dozen boxes in the shop had likewise exploded into ragged stubs just like the one Sparrow was still holding in her soot-stained left hand. Shattered boxes and their contents went everywhere in the store, and a haze of shredded pasteboard began floating to the ground like a strong snowfall.

Through the sound of falling boxes, Sparrow said a particular word that Rarity had told Sweetie Belle never to use except when poked with a pin. Then the slender girl looked at the shattered stub of a wand and waved it several times to put out the flame that was still burning on it. “Oops. They’re not supposed to do that, are they?”

Author's Note

Pretty sure blowing up a wand gets you into Gryffindor automatically.

If you blow up Ollivander's doing it, they'll send a chauffeur-driven limo to pick you up.

So who spotted the I Love Lucy reference?

9. Sweetie's First Test

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Sweetie’s First Test

Sweetie Belle was no stranger to being in trouble, particularly the kind of trouble that came with having friends. The first rule of friendship was to stick together.

“It’s not our fault!”

The second rule was to divert the blame.

Thankfully, the old human who appeared behind the shop’s counter did not look very angry, only startled, although that could just be from the way his wispy white hair frizzed out in all directions. He looked down at the three of them through the dissipating smoke, raised one pale eyebrow, and tut-tut’ed while slowly shaking his head.

“My word! What a curious group of students we have this morning. One moment, young miss.”

He plucked the stub of the wand out of Sparrow’s hands and gave it a long, penetrating look before placing it down on the counter in the middle of a small group of glowing sparks, which were all that was left of the rest of the wooden stick. Even his long, thin fingers appeared to be wrinkled to Sweetie, although that could just have been because humans did not have a furry coat.

“In all my years, I’ve never seen a wand react like this,” he mused. “Not even one of the Weasley’s trick wands. Was this the willow wand we had set out for the customer?”

“Yes, sir. There were two of them on a pillow here.” Wycliffe put the smoldering wand fragment he was clutching onto the wooden counter. There was not much left of the pillow except a few floating motes of stuffing, so the small boy swallowed and continued. “We’ll pay for it, of course.”

“Oh, think nothing of it, my boy. If I charged for every wand a wizard touched, I’d be an extremely wealthy man. Now, my name is Mister Ollivander. How may I help you?”

“This is Sweetie Belle,” said Wycliffe, very politely nodding to Sweetie. “And her friend, Sparrow Lilley from the colonies. If you will please get me an oak wand, nine and three quarters inches long with a unicorn tail hair core, I will be out of your way so you can attend to the young ladies.”

Sweetie did not think the old man could make his eyebrow go any further up, but he managed, and included a subtle smile. “Oh, pardon me, young proprietor. As a customer, I seem to be on the wrong side of the counter. And your name is…?”

The small boy seemed to shrink in on himself even further. “Wycliffe Nott.”

“Ahh.” Ollivander’s head lowered in a slow nod, and all of the humor left his expression. “I was so sad to hear about your father. Please, accept my condolences. I remember his visit as well as your brother’s, as you said. Both oak, nine and three quarters inches with a unicorn mane hair. But are you quite certain you wish to tread the same path as your father, Master Nott? After all, your mother was a birch.”

Sweetie gasped and Sparrow exclaimed, “Hey! That’s not very nice.”

“A silver birch wand,” clarified Wycliffe. “From a tree. With an owl tail feather core.”

“Oh,” said Sparrow. “You mean we get to customize our wands? That’s so cool! Can I get a red one?”

“Can I get one with feathers on the end so I can use it as a quill?” asked Sweetie.

“Patience, ladies. Why don’t the three of you come up to the counter and we’ll proceed.” He brushed a few ashes off the charred counter and waited for them to get situated, although there was a twinkle in his eye that Sweetie was having trouble determining what it meant. There was certainly more to the old man than he appeared if he had owned his store since… well, she did not know what year it was now in people terms, so the sign out front really did not mean anything unless she asked.

“Your sign says you’ve been making wands since 385 bic,” said Sweetie as Mister Ollivander got out his measuring tape. “How long ago was that?”

“Two thousand, three hundred and eighty three years,” said Sparrow.

“Two thousand, three hundred and eighty two years,” said Wycliffe just a moment later. “There is no year zero.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Sparrow. She scowled a little while Ollivander used his cloth measuring tape on the boy, and spent her time looking around the stacks of boxes all around the store. Sweetie did not think it was very polite, but perhaps the tall girl had never been measured before. Rarity had measured Sweetie Belle all kinds of times, although not in human form. Sweetie knew enough to hold still and stick out the appropriate limb when requested while asking the rest of the questions she had stacked up.

“So I don’t know how to do magic here, but I used to have a tutor. Will my wand come with some sort of instructions, like a book?” she asked hopefully. “Miss Selkirk seems to think I could make hers work by just flicking it, but nothing happened at all, and I was just worried—’

She had to stop talking when Ollivander measured very carefully from the tip of her nose to her bottom lip, then he gave a sharp nod. “I must say, I’ve never met a witch with quite your level of potential, Miss Belle. I’m certain Hogwarts will have no trouble teaching you how to reach your proper level of magical ability. And as for you, young lady.” Ollivander held the measuring tape to Sparrow’s shoulder and measured to her ear. “I daresay your magic will be much like your uncles’ dragons, all filled with fire and speed. I think I have just the wand for you.” He winked. “And it’s red.”

“Cool.”

Sparrow bounced on her toes while Ollivander turned to the stacks of wand boxes and climbed a ladder to get at the top row, only for a squeaky voice from above to ask, “I hope you don’t want this one, Mister Ollivander. Or this one.”

A ferret peered out from the top of the stack and pushed several exploded boxes over the edge one at a time, each of which the old man caught and looked at before tossing them to one side.

“Can you find the red alder wand, with a unicorn tail hair core?” he called back up. “It should be a new one that my granddaughter just finished.”

A shattered box with a few splinters in it fell from the top row, and the old man caught it just as surely as Pinkie Pie under a dropped piece of candy. “Oh,” he said, looking at the splinters. “I suppose it can’t hurt to try.”

Sparrow took the splintered stub of the wand between thumb and forefinger and peered at it, before waving it in the direction of the back of the store. Wycliffe flinched, but Sweetie watched carefully, as did the old man. Several boxes hopped up and shuffled around, but no explosions or fire followed, and Ollivander gave out a pleased smile.

“An auspicious beginning,” he declared, even after Sweetie picked up the wand stub and got absolutely nothing from waving it other than a splinter in one finger. “Now, let us see about our young Master Nott, shall we? I believe this is the wand you were asking about.” The old man moved behind a stack of boxes and emerged with another truncated stub, which he regarded as if the wood had done something rather unpleasant to him. “Curious,” he murmured before vanishing into the stacks of wand boxes again. Several wand stubs came out behind him, tossed one at a time as Ollivander came across more exploded boxes, each of which made Wycliffe give out a low shiver, much as if he were counting bits.

“Oleander!” Ollivander called out over his shoulder toward the back of the store.

There was no response, other than some more shuffling noises.

“Oleander!” he called out louder. “Oleander Dean Ollivander! Are the two of you done with the Whomping Willow twigs yet?”

“Just about, grandfather.” There was a rattle and a sharp thumping noise from the dusty depths of the store, as if somepony had just been tackled, or whomped.

“Do you have any idea why all of the recent wands with unicorn hair cores seem to have exploded?” he called back.

There was a very long, pregnant silence. “Maybe?” she said after a few moments.

“Maybe?” he echoed. “I sent you to the Dark Forest a week ago to get more tail hairs. Did you bring back unicorn tail hairs or not?”

“It’s… complicated,” called out the unseen Oleander. “Can we talk to you about it privately later, grandfather?”

“Children,” scoffed Ollivander as he turned back to his customers. “Well, let’s find your wands.”

- Ω - -

After an hour, and a growing pile of discarded wands, Sweetie Belle was starting to wonder. Sparrow had managed to use a long hickory wand with a dragon heartstring ‘core’ to move a few boxes and said it felt ‘funny’ whenever she waved it, which was an improvement, but not nearly good enough for the old man. Wycliffe could get just about any oak wand to make a quiet whooshing noise whenever he waved it, but nothing more. And Sweetie…

“Still nothing, Mister Ollivander,” she said with one last vigorous wave of the red alder wood wand, which did not look very red and was making just as little magic as if she had been waving a pencil. Which she had tried, just to see what happened.

“You’re not making a connection,” said the old man as he passed over another wand.

... three hours later.

“There’s just something I’m missing,” murmured Ollivander. His wrinkles had deepened, and a certain amount of hesitancy had begun to show whenever he passed a wand to Sweetie, who would try it and pass it along to her friends. A pile of wand boxes had grown until it scattered all across the floor and made heaps behind the counter, but none of the wands in them had done a single thing when Sweetie waved them.

Their wand-waving experimentation had been interrupted nearly a dozen times as other customers had come in and left with their new wands. While waiting, Wycliffe sat patiently on the row of chairs in the shop and Sparrow had flopped down on the floor to morosely poke buttons on a small plastic game of some sort.

Sweetie Belle had a different goal. She occupied her time during those breaks by getting out her book and writing back to her friends in Ponyville, which also gave her a chance to practice writing with her fingers around the quill, at the cost of much of her already questionable legibility. Wycliffe was helpful during her more difficult Equestrian words and letters, showing how she was gripping the pegasus quill incorrectly and asking about the language she was using as well as the type of magic that transmitted their messages back and forth. It helped her cope with the stuplifying boredom and frustration of wand shopping, because spending time with friends was far better than being alone.

Then Sparrow’s family had poked their noses into the shop briefly to tell her that Nel needed to get back to his base in a hurry, and that Miss Selkirk was going to take care of them as soon as they were done.

If they ever were going to get out of the wand shop.

“I’ve never been able to make a wand work,” offered Sweetie. “Maybe I don’t have any wizard magic here. I mean at home I can make a light, pick up things, and do every spell in the Penworthington’s Penultimate Prep School Primer most of the time without setting too much stuff on fire. Maybe the Wizengammet sent me a Hogwarts letter by mistake.”

“Those students who receive a letter from Hogwarts are within a most promising few,” said Ollivander, passing her a wand made out of some sort of cool white material like plastic. “Hogwarts selects the students who attend, much like your wand will choose you. Some of the students have had their name in the Book since they were born, while others seem to just appear at the last moment when letters are sent out for First Years.”

“So how did I get picked?” asked Sweetie, passing back the nonfunctional wand.

“I would not hazard a guess,” said Ollivander. “How students are selected is a secret which goes all the way back to the founders of the school, but to be within that special few is a treasured honor. Most wizarding children are taught by local schools or tutors, after all, and many of them acquire their wands from local artisans who have studied the mysteries of wand lore. Sometimes the process seems quite random, but all things seem to work out in the end.”

The old man hesitated while holding a short, stubby wand seemingly made out of prickly thorns. “I’ve always said the wand chooses the wizard, but have never really considered how the school selects the student in much the same way. That is neither here nor there. It is only up to us to find the right wand made out of the right material to properly focus your magic.”

He waved a long-fingered hand at her two friends. “Young Miss Lilley there seems to resonate with the red alder wands and hickory the best, most likely because she is from America, and those trees grow all over the world. Try this one, please. No? Anyway, your young Master Nott is a tough and unyielding fellow, unmistakably an oak like his father, although the path he chooses to walk will be his own, much like oak trees can set their roots all over the world and grow slow and steady until they are the greatest trees in the forest. I suspect they both will require wands with unicorn hair cores, but as you noticed, we recently received a bad batch of hairs. I will just have to send my granddaughter out to collect some more, and see if they can return in a few days when we have made some replacements.”

“I do not believe we will have time to wait in our schedules,” said Wycliffe. “What kind of unicorn hairs will I need to provide for our wands?”

“Oh, I remember the unicorns in your family’s woods,” said Ollivander, passing Sweetie a wand that appeared to be made out of brass, but felt warm in her hands. “Quite nice ones, in fact. It is just that your mother always used to travel with me to collect their hairs, and since she passed—” The old man let out his breath with a far-away expression and the slightest pursing of his lips. “They only see me instead of us together, and distrust the result.”

“No,” said Wycliffe with his most serious expression. “I know of a unicorn much closer.”

Sweetie Belle was caught a little off her guard, even though she should have expected it. Galloway had said that she should not show off about how she could turn from a unicorn to a human and back, she knew just how difficult it would be to keep her ability a secret back in Ponyville with her friends there. Plus everypony in the goblin bank had seen her change. Still, the windowshades of the shop were wide open, and she should at least try to follow the older witch’s advice while helping her new friend.

Sparrow caught her glance at the windows and was pulling the blinds by the time Sweetie had even gotten halfway there. Between Wycliff’s identification of a solution to their wand problem and Sparrow recognizing how Sweetie did not want to show off to any humans walking about outside, it was nice to have friends who knew her so well even with the short amount of time they had been together.

It only took a moment for Sweetie Belle to slip out of her shoes and change, with an odd shrinking sensation as the close confines of the wand shop rose up above her new lower point of view. Mister Ollivander bent over the counter to look at her new shape, his eyes as wide she had ever seen before and his mouth drawn up into a surprised ‘o’ as he froze in place.

Sparrow Lilley had no such hesitation. She buried her hands into Sweetie Belle’s mane and fluffed her up, grinning all the while. “I knew you were adorable. Isn’t she adorable? I mean you changed in the bank and I didn’t see you there but I saw you this morning in bed and you were just so cute!” Sparrow’s voice cracked a little, and she quickly regained her composure while turning to Ollivander. “So, you can make our wands now?”

“Another Equestrian unicorn,” said the old man finally, coming around the counter cautiously with his cloth measuring tape in hand. “My, my. Why didn’t you say so at first, young lady?”

“You know about Equestria?” asked Wycliffe with his head cocked slightly to one side.

“I know all sorts of things.” Ollivander held out the measuring tape as Sweetie turned her tail in his direction. “Someday when you become my age, you will look back and wonder at all the amazing things you learn over the years. Oh yes, these will do just fine.”

“You can take as many as you need, Mister Ollivander,” said Sweetie, who was trying to watch how the human was measuring each hair because she had never thought about her tail being used in that fashion. Maybe they had wands that used human hair or fingernail clippings too. It was an odd concept that she really hoped they would cover in school, because it would be really neat if she could make wands for Apple Bloom and Scootaloo back home.

“I wouldn’t want to harm your appearance,” said Ollivander, although at Sweetie’s insistence, he did get a pair of golden shears and trimmed off a few dozen hairs, and then several dozen more when she urged him.

“Rarity had me grow my tail out because she thought long tails might be in fashion here,” explained Sweetie. “It’s longer than I really like anyway.”

“On the contrary, young lady,” said Ollivander as he arranged the hairs in a box on the counter. “They’re quite perfect. By the way, I could not help but overhear you tell Master Nott about your book. I presume it connects back to your friends in Equestria?” He pointed with one thin finger at Sweetie’s diary. “If so, might I borrow that while the three of you finish your school shopping? I think I know just the thing to use for your wand.”

The loss of a few hairs did not affect her ability to turn into a human, and once she had gotten her toes put back into her shoes and her underwear properly rearranged, she helped Sparrow open the shop’s window blinds again. “What about Wycliffe and Sparrow? Will you really be able to make wands for my friends too?”

“With these?” Ollivander held up one of the hairs, which shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the store’s windows. “We shall see. Oh yes, we will most certainly see.”

- Ω - -

Thankfully, the rest of the purchases proved to be far easier to acquire. Wycliffe already had his robes for school, so he sat quietly at the shop while a pair of elderly witches fussed over the two girls, trying on several pointed hats and debating which shades of black looked best on each of them. Sweetie Belle was starting to wonder just how she was supposed to waddle around with so many clothes layered on her. The underwear pinched, everything itched, and the dark student jacket was different than the muggle jacket she had already bought, so she had to buy two of them also, as well as a strangling tie and clumsy writing gloves that left her fingertips bare. At least the pointy hat balanced on the top of her head made sense, if she thought of it like some sort of human horn.

When they left the store with Miss Selkirk bringing up the rear with their purchases, Sweetie had to retie her trainers. “I’m starting to really sympathize with Applejack,” she said while trying to deal with the finger frustration of not getting trapped in the knots. “Everytime she comes over to our house, my sister insists on putting her in a dress. If she was here, she’d be running down the street naked except for her hat. There,” she added as she put the last loop into the knot.

“Is Applejack another unicorn?” asked Wycliffe, which was the first thing he had said in a while.

“No, she’s a farmer.” Sweetie got to her feet and started to chase after Sparrow, who had already ducked into the next shop on the list. “She raises all kinds of—”

“Apples?” asked Wycliffe.

“Of course.” She followed Sparrow into Bluebottle’s Luggage and Sundries Shop, Ask About Our Student Specials, and looked around at the various trunks and suitcases on display. Most of them had little wheels on the bottom that would pop out if you pushed a special button, although one of the most expensive ones had a vast number of wheels under it, and a sign that claimed it would follow along without any need to pull.

“Ooo, the pretty young lady likes our deluxe luggage,” purred a small man just barely taller than Sweetie Belle, mostly being able to make that claim due to the tuft of hair sticking out of the top of his head. “Yes, she does.”

Wycliffe cleared his throat. “Actually, the ladies would like something a little more practical for school. Like—” the boy turned to point at a basic black trunk at the far end of the display, but his finger wavered and turned instead to a laquered model slightly to one side “—this one. Since the vast majority of the time your trunk will simply be sitting at the foot end of your bed, you should not require one that tends to wander off if not watched closely.”

“All of our— Wait!” said the salesperson, giving the expensive trunk a poke with his wand and herding it back onto the display stand. “Naughty! Stay!”

Somehow the luggage managed to express a sullen expression on the wooden parquet scrollwork covering its front while rolling back to its proper spot on the display, although it fidgeted restlessly while the salesperson turned back to his customers with a toothy grin. “You must be students.”

“And you must be joking if you think you can charge this much for a trunk,” said Wycliffe, looking at the price tag.

It was the opening salvo of a financial dance that Sweetie Belle had seen many times in her sister’s boutique, only Rarity had always been far easier to ‘talk down’ than Mr. Bluebottle. Leaving the negotiations to Wycliffe, she and Sparrow poked about the other chests, comparing features and examining the interiors. In the end, they selected different models than each other, and more expensive than Wycliffe was trying to steer them toward. Sweetie got one with an additional shelf and clothes hanger space, more of a wardrobe than a trunk, including a rotating bookshelf that was supposed to be able to hold however many books she could put on them.

Sweetie planned on testing that feature extensively.

Sparrow fell in love with a red lacquered model with a second set of fold-down wheels which could make it the base for stacking other trunks on top of it. There were scads of tiny drawers in it which she explained would be good for all of the tiny things she tended to collect, and it was red, which Sweetie though was the real reason she wanted it.

Wycliffe took the basic black model, and they were off to the next shop on their list.

* * *

Three dimensions away anti-spinward and four quantum jumps in…

Princess Twilight Sparkle paused for a moment with her inked quill held over a long document. There had been some sort of… noise in the palace, a high-pitched squeak like an unoiled door or somepony had stepped on a mouse’s tail. She remained silent for a minute in the hopes that it would repeat and she could identify the maintenance issue or see to medical treatment for the injured mus musculus, but there was nothing but the ordinary sounds of diligent ponies at work, so she returned to her own job and cleaned up the ink blotch that had resulted.

It was strange. For a moment, the squeak had sounded like Sweetie Belle.

* * *

“Do you think she’s done?” asked Wycliffe.

“I’m not sure.” Sparrow eyed her friend, who was practically vibrating in place even with both her own hand and Wycliffe’s over her mouth. “I don’t understand her at all. It’s only a quill shop.”

Another squeak emerged from under their hands, and a rather chubby witch dove for cover behind the front counter again in a cloud of loose quills that had come loose from their wall mountings or burst out of the boxes when the shelf had come down with a crash. After a few moments where Sweetie continued not to squeal in joy, her long nose poked up from behind the cash register and Missus Scrivener asked, “Does she do that often?”

Sparrow shrugged. “Every time we’ve come into a feather shop so far.”

“That’s once so far,” said Wycliffe, looking cross-eyed at a bit of fluff that had landed on his nose. “And they are quills, of far higher quality than you will need for your school work.” Sweetie struggled a little under their grasp, but did not manage to escape so she could add her own opinion.

“I think she wants one,” said Sparrow.

“I think she wants all of them,” said Wycliffe.

Sweetie nodded as much as she could. Wycliffe looked over his shoulder at Miss Selkirk, who was still out in the street, holding her ears.

“How about we have Missus Scrivener pick out an assortment of them,” he suggested, “so you can try them out and see which ones you like the most. Then you can send in an order by owl from school.”

“Like mail-order?” asked Sparrow. “That’s cool.”

“We have another store in Hogsmeade,” said Missus Scrivener, who had begun to emerge from behind the counter as the conversation had turned to commerce.

“First Years are not—” began Wycliffe before coming to an abrupt stop. “Oh, yes. She can shop there. Please put together a small collection and we’ll release Miss Belle to pay for them once they are ready.”

“Of course.” She may have been chubby, but the grey-haired witch was certainly fast. With one quick wave of her wand, the spilled quills were re-boxed, the fallen display pieces returned to the walls, and a neat collection of colorful quills was laid out on the counter, all ready for payment. “Would you be interested in our Quill-Of-The-Month club, young miss? It is free with your purchase, and provides a quality—”

“Yes,” said Wycliffe quickly before Sweetie could break free. “Also two packages of Student Specials for myself and the American.”

“I’ve got a box of pens,” said Sparrow.

“You need quills,” said Wycliffe. “You’re going to argue, I’m going to win, and you’re going to buy a box of quills anyway, so let’s pay the proprietor and move on, shall we?”

* * *

“Eww!” declared Sweetie Belle, peering into a tub of leeches. “We won’t need any of these, right?”

“No.” Wycliffe poked his glasses, which had begun sliding down his nose the minute they had walked into the shop. “Hogwarts will have all the fresh leeches you need. Mr. Mulpepper is the rational source for materials which they do not supply and do not make it onto the Hogwarts First Year supplies list. You will each need a potion towel—” he placed a stack of three fluffy orange cloths into Sweetie’s hands “ — and a spares kit for your potions classes, an inert stirring rod in case you break one, a dozen empty crystal phials for any potions you create that you wish to keep, although I would not advise it. One bottle of Inkwells Glass Marking Stain so your writing on the outside of the phials does not wear off, one bottle of Inkwells Glass Marking Solvent so the marks can be removed, a package of Inkwells Clear Goggle Wipes so you will be able to see through the gunk that collects on your protective eyewear, an eyedropper and a bottle of Acid Hole Be-Gone for the inevitable splatters that leave holes in your clothes, and two bottles of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion.”

“Is it mane conditioner?” asked Sweetie, peering at the instructions written in a crabbed script on the side of the bottle.

“It’s not for you.” Wycliffe jabbed a finger at Sparrow, who was trying her best to pick up a flobberworm with a set of heavy tweezers, only to be thwarted by the worm’s thick slime coat. Sparrow’s tangled curls were hanging down around her face, which combined with the humidity of the flobberworm enclosure made her head look like some sort of reddish snarl of vines with a pert little nose sticking out.

“Good point.” Sweetie slipped the bottles into their wicker shopping basket.

* * *

“It seems odd for a shop to just sell one thing,” said Sweetie Belle, looking at the front of Potage’s Cauldron Shop.

“I’m used to stores selling all kinds of things,” said Sparrow.

“We only need one thing here,” cautioned Miss Selkirk, who was starting to look a little ragged from following them around. “A size two pewter cauldron.”

* * *

“Brass scales,” chided Miss Selkirk. “Now help me pick up all the weights that you knocked off— And those weights too. You need to be more careful.”

* * *

“No,” said Miss Selkirk. One sturdy hand reached out and Sparrow by the scruff of her jacket as she darted past. “No! We’re not stopping at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes to get things for you to get into trouble!”

“But…” Sparrow pointed into the shop. “Sweetie Belle just went in. And she’s got loads more money with her than I do.”

Wycliffe’s eyes went wide. “You told her to buy an assortment of quills before. What if she buys an assortment of— that?” he added, pointing to a whole wall full of Puking Pustules and Vomit Chews.

* * *

“I caught the telescope that Sparrow knocked over!” protested Sweetie Belle.

“And knocked over three more,” said Wycliffe. “It’s a good thing they reacted well to the repairing spell.”

“You break it, you repair it, you buy it anyway,” sighed Sweetie Belle, although she brightened up almost immediately. “I know, I can send the extra one to Twilight! She’s always needing new telescopes. Where do we need to go next?”

“The bookstore,” declared Miss Selkirk.

Things went downhill from there.

10. Ollivander's Unexpected Surprise

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Ollivander’s Unexpected Surprise

Books, books, and more books. Twilight Sparkle liked to keep her library stocked, but wizards seemed to like their bookstores stacked. In addition, there were a number of fat cats who lounged around Flourish and Blott’s bookstore like they owned it, draping across tall shelves or above the doorframe with only their twitching tails hanging down to show their location. Sweetie Belle had the utmost respect for all of the relaxed cat rear ends, because her sister’s cat had taught her that the other end had sharp claws.

After due consideration and considerable effort not to lose her composure at the sight of all the wonderful books, she put exploring that side of the bookstore away for the moment and turned to the section where Wycliffe was directing Sparrow, under a giant banner that proclaimed ‘Student Sale.’

All of the books for Hogwarts students had been pushed to one side under the banner and seemed sadly neglected, like Hearth’s Warming decorations sitting in the store until Winter Wrap-Up sales. Wycliffe deflected the sales clerk who bustled up to them, then selected out the First Year books Sparrow and Sweetie would need from the new pile, still with that freshly printed scent about them.

“I’ve already purchased mine,” he explained tersely. “My father got them last year when he was hoping to get me into Hogwarts early. The letter didn’t come.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” said Sweetie. “Since last year was so dangerous.”

Miss Selkirk did not say anything, but she was looking through a stack of adventure books by a handsome wizard named Lockhart, with her back turned to the school books. Both she and Wycliffe seemed eager to leave while Sparrow was engrossed in a selection of broomstick reviews, but Sweetie Belle wanted to make at least one pass through the whole collection. What she wanted to do was buy them all, which would have been wildly excessive because the school undoubtedly had most of them. Then again, the store had a large number of used books at remarkable markdowns, so it would be fiscally prudent — a phrase that Rarity used frequently around sales — to stock up on the ones she found most interesting, because they most probably could not be found at home in any case.

Maybe if she came through the bookstore before she went home to Equestria at the end of the school year. But then she’d have to share them with Twilight, and Twilight did not share books well.

Decisions, decisions.

As a representative of Equestria, it was Sweetie Belle’s responsibility to learn all about her host world. The works of Gilderoy Lockhart that Miss Selkirk was looking through seemed to be a good place to start since he was a famous wizard who had been all over the world. Plus, they were marked off at half-price twice, so she could buy four times as many of them. Then a few travelogues about places called Romania and Canadia, a book on British Muggle government, a collection of cartoons that made no sense at all to her…

“Can I help you with that, Miss?” A young red-haired witch managed to get underneath the stack of books before they collapsed, although she staggered a little under the load too and several of the books slid off anyway. “Oh, my!”

“Sorry!” blurted out Sweetie. She had tried to catch the books with her unicorn magic, which she had forgotten did not work in this form, and unfortunately she was not nearly good enough with changing in order to try turning into a unicorn before the books hit the floor.

...where she found another one that had been kicked under some bins, and covered in dust.

“I just wanted some books to read at school,” continued Sweetie as she wiped some of the dust off the tattered cover. It did not help much, since the lettering on the front had been nearly worn off. “Moste… Potions! Ohh, Applebloom would like this,” she added, dumping it into the wicker basket that the young witch had brought over. All combined, they probably went far over her original budget, which made Sweetie glad she had brought more money.

“You must be one of the First Years,” said the red-haired witch.

“Yes, I am.” Sweetie groped under the bin to see if the dusty book had any friends. “Are you another one of the Weasley family?”

“Um… Yes. How did—”

“Got it!” Sweetie pulled another dust-covered book from under the bin and peered into the darkness for any more. “Sparrow said that every human we’ve met so far with a red mane has been part of the Weasley family.”

There were still several books out of reach of even her long human arms, which frustrated Sweetie. She kicked off her shoes and concentrated since she was down on all fours anyway, and switched to her natural form. A quick burst of green hornlight showed three books hiding in the darkness away from her shopping spree, making it trivial to grab onto them from this vantage point.

Or at least if she had not been grabbed around the middle and squeezed.

“Dad was right!” squealed the bookstore clerk. “You’re a unicorn! A real unicorn!”

Through the girl’s crushing grip, Sweetie could see her two friends scurrying through the rest of the bookstore patrons in her direction, but before they reached the scene of the squeezing, it stopped with a loud gasp.

“Oh, no!” Sweetie was dropped onto the floor, where she managed to make a vaguely cat-like landing most likely because of so many cats in the store. The clerk promptly bent over her and began petting, apologizing just as fast as she could push the words out. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! Dad said there was an exchange student coming to Hogwarts this year and that I wasn’t supposed to wig out and here I am doing just that oh I’m so sorry! Oh, and I’m petting you too and you’re so soft but what if that offends you and I… I’m sorry! I’m Ginny Weasley.”

“Sweetie Belle,” said Sweetie, sticking her hoof out for a shake, which triggered another muffled squeal of joy from the young witch and several curious looks from some elderly bookstore customers. “Oops, sorry,” she added, biting her bottom lip and concentrating until she was back in her human form.

“Awww!” Ginny still shook Sweetie’s hand and got introduced to Sparrow and Wycliffe, after which they all picked up the stacks of books and paid for them, with their new best friend chattering all the while. Sweetie was not really expecting to find any human who was as energetic and talkative as Pinkie Pie from back home, but Ginny was close, and she was going to be a student at Hogwarts too, only in her seventh and final year, and she had a pet named Arnold and was going to be captain of the Hogwarts quidditch team and if Sweetie ever wanted some lessons on how to ride a broomstick she would be more than happy to help and even loan her a broom and did she know First Years were not supposed to own brooms but the school had a bunch of them and it was too bad they had to leave to get their wands but they were free to come by the Burrow any time before school started and talk to her mother because she would just love to meet them all and goodbye!

“Are you all right?” asked Sparrow once the three of them had gotten a safe distance away from the book store, each with a trunk full of books bumping and thumping along behind them and Miss Selkirk in the lead. “You faded out on us a little at the end there.”

“She seems like a very nice girl, but my throat’s dry,” managed Sweetie Belle. “I haven’t talked that much in ages.”

“So you’re a little hoarse?” asked Wycliffe.

Sparrow shot him a puzzled look, but did not say anything else as they continued to walk down the crowded street. It did make a good excuse to stop at a small shop for a fruity raspberry ice before going to Ollivander’s wand shop for what was probably going to be a few more hours of wand waving. Horns were so much easier to use, but if she was going to go to a human school and learn human magic, the discomfort was something she could tolerate so she could be like the rest of the students.

Thoughts of the other human students were still whirling around her head when they finally got to Ollivanders and met a familiar couple going inside at the same time.

“Hello Miss Granger. Mister Weasley.” Miss Selkirk nodded at each of the teenagers. “Are you in need of a wand this evening also?”

“Ronald lost his,” said Hermonie Granger before her coltfriend could say anything. “And I strained mine over the summer.”

“That’s one way to put it,” said Ronald nearly under his breath. “We just need to pick up our wands and we’ll be out of your way.”

“That’s fine,” chirped Sparrow, who had regained a lot of her sugar-fueled energy. “We’ll probably be waving wands until it’s dark.”

Miss Selkirk let them go in without her, but with the five of them waiting in Ollivander’s front room, it was just slightly crowded. The old man came bustling out of the back with a happy smile for his customers and carrying a wand.

“What a wonderful day to find so many beautiful women in my store,” he said, producing the twisted wand, handle first. “First, the lovely Miss Granger. I was able to repair your wand this time, but if you continue using it in this fashion, I’m afraid it may break for good.”

“What did you do with it?” asked Sparrow

“It’s nothing,” said the young witch, giving the wand a quick flick of her wrist and producing a candle flame on the end, and then extinguishing it with another flick.

“She slammed it in an automobile door,” said Ronald with the air of somepony who had been holding back a secret for far too long. “All the things we did when trying to fight… Voldemort, and she catches it in a muggle car door when we go to fetch her parents.”

“Ronald!” scolded Hermonie. “At least I managed to keep my wand. This will be what, your fourth?”

“Don’t be so harsh on your young man,” said Ollivander, producing two additional wands and placing them on the table. “He showed remarkable fortitude during our rescue, and many times since. It has changed him considerably since his youth, and I was wondering if perhaps that change reflected in his magic. Try this one first, sir. Eleven and a half inches of oak with a unicorn tail hair core. An extremely difficult combination to master for one so young as yourself.”

Ronald picked up the pale wand and turned it over in his hands. “Oak? I’ve never really liked oak wands. They’re… finicky.” With a swish and flick of his new wand, Ronald made the pillow on the table float up, turn once around, and descend back to its original position.

A bare hint of a smile graced Ollivander’s slender face as he accepted the wand back. “And yet you’ve had a different wand every time I’ve seen you. All of them have performed well, to one degree or another, even the one you took from Master Pettigrew. May I see it, please?”

Reluctantly, Ronald removed a twisted stick from under his jacket and passed it over. Sweetie was getting used to how each wand looked so different from each other, but this one felt… wrong, somehow. Like it had been sprayed by a skunk that she could not smell. Ollivander took the stubby wand in his long fingers and turned it several times, eventually giving it a flick of his wrist and creating a slimy black toad which sat on the counter and croaked.

“Short, brittle, and warped,” he said. “Much like its owner. He had it for such a short time, and yet managed to do such squalid and disgusting things with it. The man had no redeeming characteristics at all. At least when he was a rat, he provided some rudimentary companionship for your family. And yet I wonder, if the Dark Lord had never returned, would Peter have remained loyal to you as a rat until his end days?” Ollivander’s hands tightened, and the wand snapped like a twig. Sweetie should have been discouraged since it was the only wand in the shop she had not waved, but then again, she really would not have wanted to use it anyway.

“My father claimed Peter Pettigrew was a faithful servant to the Dark Lord,” said Wycliffe. “I doubt if he had the capacity for any other loyalty at all.”

“Perhaps.” Ollivander stashed the wand fragments behind the counter and produced yet another wand. This one was long and swishy, and he used it to banish the croaking toad into a puff of violet smoke.

“That’s better,” said Ronald as he accepted the wand and gave it a slow wave. A bouquet of colorful flowers sprang from the tip, and his marefriend caught them before they fell on the floor. “Actually, that’s odd,” he said with a frown. “I was only trying for one flower. It seems much easier to use.”

Miss Granger stopped trying to put away the flowers and made them vanish instead. “You’ve been using a number of wands that were not your own, Ronald. It only makes sense that your own wand would be easier to use.”

“Indeed, Miss Granger.” Ollivander seemed suspiciously smug. “A properly balanced tool will naturally perform in ways that can utilize your full potential. A fourteen inch willow wand with a unicorn tail hair core seems to be where you naturally fit in the balance of things. Flexible and strong, yet pure at heart.”

“Wait a minute,” said Sweetie. “He can use any wand, and I can’t? I thought it took a special wand for every wizard?”

“Even wands that are much alike act in different ways for their proper wielders, Miss Belle,” said Ollivander. “Ronald’s friend Harry Potter had a wand with a phoenix feather core just like… Voldemort.” The last word escaped Ollivander with a great deal of released tension, as if a weight had been removed from the old man’s back. “They both did amazing things with their magic, but their lives could not have been further apart. There are many factors involving how a wizard’s new wand works. Ronald is not the young boy who broke his first hand-me-down wand, after all. He is older and has seen more terrible things than wizards many times his age. The wood of his new wand is from a different tree, and the unicorn tail hair from a much different creature. As he grows old, his wand will continue to grow with him, and someday when he has grandchildren, it shall be a wand that they look upon with fascination as he tells them the story of how he met the Boy Who Lived, and helped him vanquish the Dark Lord.”

“It won’t be the same wand,” said Mister Weasley, sounding a little perplexed. “I have no idea where it went, and I’ve used several over the last year.”

“Ah,” said Ollivander with a twinkle in his eye. “But they don’t have to know that, do they? And for you, young lady.” Ollivander took Hermione's hand and raised it to his lips for a brief kiss. “When the time comes, I am looking forward to finding wands for your children also. Now you two hurry off. I’m certain you have things to see, places to go.”

“Thank you very much, Mister Ollivander.” The young man reached into his pocket, presumably for some bits, only to have the shop proprietor shoo him toward the door.

“There will be none of that, Mister Weasley. As long as I live, your money is no good here. I owe you and your family a debt far greater than mere coin. Now, be off, the two of you. I’ve got customers to deal with. Paying customers,” he added.

Despite Ronald’s faint protests, his marefriend hurried him out the door, with the both of them leaving considerable thanks in their wake. Mister Ollivander’s piercing blue gaze lowered, catching Wycliffe apparently by surprise when he handed over the pale wand that Ronald Weasley had rejected.

“It’s too long,” said Wycliffe, passing the wand over to Sweetie Belle, who gave it an ineffectual wave out of reflex.

“And since when have you studied wand lore?” asked Ollivander right back, not taking his eyes off the small boy for a moment. “You are not your father, or your brother. Eleven and a half inches of pure oak heartwood, white as you can plainly see. Give it a wave and see.”

Looking very much like Sweetie imagined herself looking when she had been waving a wand to no avail, Wycliffe took the pale stick back and gave it a brief flick of the wrist. At first, it did not seem as if anything had happened, but as the wind rose inside the shop and began blowing small pieces of paper about, she started to detect the odor of sandalwood and myrrh, mixed with a number of floral scents and the fetid tang of swamp water. Then things settled back down, and Wycliffe placed the wand back on the counter with a sharp click.

“No,” he said simply.

Ollivander had been watching with intense focus, and reacted much as if he had been poked in the ribs. “No? My boy, do you have any idea how few wizards can use an oak heartwood wand?”

“My great-grandfather had a white oak wand,” said Wycliffe. “It killed him.”

“Ah, yes.” Ollivander gave a slow nod and turned the long wand in his fingers. “Backfire Nott. One of your more notable ancestors. As I recall, he exploded while mixing potions. Not something which a cautious wizard uses a wand for.”

“He was stirring with it,” said Wycliffe reluctantly. “He says so every time we see his ghost.”

Ollivander said nothing. After a time, Wycliffe picked the wand back up again and gave it a longer flick. The air in the stuffy shop changed, with a faint breeze smelling of pollen and the distant call of frogs, then the small boy put the wand into a pocket in his jacket.

“Eight galleons, I presume,” he added while opening his coin purse.

“Actually…” Ollivander reached over and held one hand over the purse, “I owe House Nott a finders fee for the unicorn hairs we harvested today. As well as you, young lady.”

“Oh, I don’t need paid,” said Sweetie.

“Never say that to a wizard.” Ollivander looked quite serious. “In the wizarding world, everything is an exchange.”

Sweetie Belle shook her head. “You would not accept money from Mister Weasley.”

“Mister Weasley and his friends saved my life, young lady. It is a debt which may never be repaid.”

“Twilight Sparkle says that friends don’t have debts,” countered Sweetie. “My sister is the Element of Generosity, and she taught me to help anypony who needed it, no matter what. You needed help, so I helped. I won’t take your bits for my tail. Or galleons,” she added.

Wycliffe considered for a moment, then took the coin purse out from under Ollivander’s hand and counted out eight golden coins. “My father caused much pain through the years, even before the Dark Lord returned. With the pain that you were put through, I honestly expected you to throw me out of your shop. It is only fair that I give something back, no matter how small, to make up for his transgressions. Just—” he lowered his voice “—don’t tell anybody.”

For a long moment, Ollivander merely stood there with the gold coins in his palm. Then he closed his hand, opened it again, and the coins were gone. “I’ve seen a lot in my years,” he started, slowly. “Every time I think I’ve seen it all…”

“Princess Celestia says that she learns new things from her students all the time,” said Sweetie Belle. “It keeps her young.”

“Indeed.” Ollivander straightened up with a distant smile. “I do believe you are correct, young lady. I too have found inspiration in the words of children many times over my span of years. And with that in mind…” He turned back to the counter and produced another shorter wand, this one a smokey red in color with dark patches along the sides.

“Ha!” declared Sparrow.

Ollivander passed the wand to Sweetie.

“Hey!” protested Sparrow.

Sweetie Belle gave the red wand a tentative wave, expecting nothing.

At first, it seemed as if the wand were just as ineffectual as all the other wands she had tried. Then a massive blast of wind filled the shop, blowing papers and broken boxes in all directions as it swirled around in a growing tornado. Rainbow light blazed from the end of the wand, flaring so bright that Sweetie could not see, although she still kept a firm grip on it just the same as she held onto the wagon whenever Scootaloo tried a ‘radical’ stunt. The roar of wind only lasted for a moment before it died down with the crash and thump of relocated wand boxes and other things in the shop that were not in their original place any more.

In the relative calm that followed, Sweetie could not help but admire Sparrow’s quick reactions. The tall girl had rolled under the chairs in the waiting area, and had dragged Wycliffe there by one leg to keep him from being likewise pelted by boxes and sharp wooden splinters. The two of them looked out now, pushing aside the pieces of boxes and other debris before Sparrow fairly chirped, “I think you found your wand, Sweetie.”

The old man straightened up from where he had taken cover behind the counter, and from his smile he was thinking much the same. “In all my years of wand making, I have never failed to match a wizard or witch to their wand. Yours was a tricky one, since you are not from our world. I used your book—” he passed Sweetie Belle’s diary back to her “—to send word to your friends. Raindolph, could you bring out our other guest please?”

“Ow!” sounded a noise from the back of the shop. “Geroff! Stopit, you stupid bird!”

In a few moments, the source of the complaints became obvious as an oddly familiar young man made his way up to the counter from the back of the store. He was fairly distinctive with long, ungainly limbs that seemed to be all elbows and knees, so he should have been easy to remember from all of the people she had met in the last few days, but she just couldn’t put a hoof on where she had seen him. If nothing else, his dark green robe should have made him stand out even more than the tufts of untamed red hair sticking out from under his cloth cap. Still, he did not look like one of the Weasleys, and she really did not think this was a good time to ask, mostly because of who he was carrying.

Philomena was perched proudly on one of the man’s scrawny arms, preening to herself. From the swollen peck marks on Raindolph’s pockmarked face, she was being her regular mischievous phoenix self, or maybe a little more than Princess Celestia would have approved.

“Here you go, Mister Ollivander,” said Raindolph. “And good riddance,” he added under his breath.

Philomena took to the air almost at once, making a lazy circle around the wand shop’s narrow confines before dropping onto the counter with a scratching of claws and a faint delightful waft of hot phoenix feathers that filled the air. She gave a soft trill when Sweetie Belle tickled her under the chin, then reciprocated with a warm brush of feathers against Sweetie’s bare human cheek.

“Oh, Philomena! I didn’t mean for you to be running things back and forth every day,” said Sweetie. “Thank you for your help, but I hope you’re not taking it out on Mister Raindolph.”

The answering chirp was very conciliatory, and indicated that the trips between dimensions were actually quite enjoyable. With an additional chirp, she rubbed her beak against Raindolph’s cheek and took a playful bite at his ear.

“Philomena,” chided Sweetie Belle. “You bit him.”

Celestia’s pet phoenix lowered her head and chirped again, a low note deep in her oropharynx.

“Still not good enough.” Sweetie brushed down Philomena’s crest like Fluttershy had shown her, and was rewarded by a low growl, much like a purring noise. Displaying her flexibility, the phoenix bent backwards and rooted around in her tail feathers with her beak, then gave her whole body a shake as three glowing golden tail feathers floated to the counter.

“That’s better,” said Sweetie, giving the mischievous bird a few long strokes and a scratch. She picked up the feathers, blew air across them to keep from scorching her fingers, and passed them to Raindolph. “She says she’s sorry.”

“She has also been quite useful,” said Ollivander as Raindolph scurried off to store the feathers somewhere. “The wood for your wand came from your friend’s orchard in Equestria. I asked for the most magical wood they could find, and your friend Apple Bloom sent a branch from one of their Zap Apple trees almost at once. Then your Scootaloo sent several of her feathers without me even asking.” Ollivander produced some soft, almost downey plumes which were just a little shorter than Sweetie Belle liked to use for quills, but she had never complained since Scoots had been willing to contribute them.

“Did you use her feathers for my wand’s core?” asked Sweetie, giving the reddish wand another swooping swish and enjoying how light it felt.

“Yes, but I was busy with Mister Nott’s wand, and my apprentice Raindolph was working on Miss Lilley’s wand, a rather tricky piece of work if I do say so myself. So my granddaughter constructed your wand. She’s a very talented young lady, much like your friends.”

“What about my wand?” asked Sparrow.

The smile faded, and the old man reached behind the counter again. “I want you to try this one first,” he added cryptically as he passed over a thick wand, about as large around as his thumb, and only half the length of Wycliffe’s. “Seven inches, hickory with a unicorn tail hair core. Your tail hairs in fact, Miss Belle.”

Philomena vanished in a burst of fire.

Sparrow snatched the wand out of his hand but paused in the middle of her fencing pose to see Sweetie and Wycliffe dive under the chairs again. “Guys!” she protested. “I blow up one wand and everybody overreacts. Isn’t that right, Mister—”

“Go ahead,” called out Ollivander from behind the counter. “It should be perfectly safe.”

“What fun would that be?” muttered Sparrow before raising her voice and getting poised again for a dramatic thrust with the wand. “Ka-ZOT!”

With a sharp crack, bits of wand went zinging around the shop. Several struck the chairs and knocked out tufts of stuffing, chunks of the ceiling light fixture rattled down with musical tinkles of broken glass, and when Sweetie poked her nose out to look, the end of the wand was stuck in the shop’s front window, still vibrating from the impact. “Two wands now,” Sweetie added. “Do you have another one?”

“I was afraid of that.” Mister Ollivander came out from behind the counter, holding another wand that looked vaguely blotchy with patches of dark red and light tan on it, resembling Miss Holstein over at Applejack’s farm. He plucked the wand stub out of Sparrow’s hand and replaced it with the mottled stick. This wand was just as long as Wycliffe’s, but thick around the handle and tapering to a blunt, rounded point, looking vaguely like a club or baton.

“It’s heavy compared to the others,” said Sparrow, getting a good grip on the wand.

“Is it safe to come out?” asked Wycliffe from under the chairs.

“Absolutely,” assured Ollivander. “You are quite fortunate, young lady. I recently acquired an assistant wandmaker with a most unusual talent. That hickory wand you are holding is Unbreakable.”

“And red!” Sparrow drew back and held the wand like a sword, then darted forward and swung down at one of the chairs. The strained stitching on the seat ruptured like a bomb with a loud thunking noise, and the chair legs sunk into the floor until they were almost all buried. Little twinkles of light illuminated the falling stuffing like huge flakes of new snow with the faint sound of sleigh bells drifting through the suddenly chill air of the shop. It was all very impressive magic, and Sweetie clapped her hands together and gave a little cheer.

Wycliffe came scrambling out from under one of the other chairs, waving a hand to clear some breathing space in the flakes of loose stuffing with his eyes wide and white.

“Ahem.” Ollivander took back the wand and turned it over in his long fingers. “Unicorn hairs mix oddly with hickory, as you have noticed.” He gave the wand a brief wave, since it was probably too heavy to do a good flick.

The snow vanished while scattered pasteboard boxes, scraps of wands, and bits of paper began to scurry around the floor as if driven by a low breeze, then each of them darted and fluttered to their original positions while he continued to talk.

“We really did not want to put the True Ownership charm on it, because that can cause interference with certain spells. If you misplace it, you will simply need to have one of the teachers cast a Locating Charm like the rest of the students. Hickory heartwood can splinter under strong magical fields, which is why this wand was made from where heartwood and sapwood meet in the core of the tree. Notice the brass bands around the handle and a metal ferrule on the base of the forearm veneer for additional strength.”

“What kind of core does it have?” asked Sparrow, entranced by the way the wand shop was putting itself back together, the boxes regaining their contents and stacking on the shelves, with the chairs returning to their original stuffingness.

“A trio of tail hairs similar to before, only woven and treated. And that should do it,” said Ollivander with one slow wave of the thick wand as one final box floated onto a tall shelf and nestled in with its pasteboard brethren. Last but not least, the broken stub of the previous wand wiggled free of the hole in the store window, which sealed up behind it with a sharp popping noise, leaving the window just as before.

He passed the wand back over to Sparrow, who took it and swished vigorously. The smile on her face did not fade, although there was some obvious disappointment at the relative lack of explosions.

“It’s… real,” she finally said. “I’ve actually got a wand.”

“We have wands,” corrected Sweetie with a giggle. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”

11. Starlight Starbright

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Starlight Starbright

Three trunks and three students were not going to fit inside Miss Selkirk’s automobile on the way back to the house, particularly with all of the things Sweetie knew were packed inside them and stacked in bags on top. Her extra purchases were mostly books, while Sparrow collected just about every kind of hard candy that they had found on their trip through Diagon Alley. Wycliffe was remarkably stingy by comparison, and only bought some dragonfire-roasted chestnuts for sharing after being ribbed repeatedly by Sparrow. The nuts were far better than Sweetie had expected, sizzling on the tongue with a crisp caramelized coating that crunched between her teeth, and washed down by a cup of sweet tea from a nearby vendor.

The goblins at the bank were very interested in all three of their wands, and examined them closely under the watchful eyes of Miss Selkirk and William Weasley. Each wand was unique to the wizard, they explained, and could be used as an additional form of identification during times when a depositor’s vault needed the extra security. In return, they gave each of the young students a handful of small black candies that tasted vile, although they did not admit it until after going back out into the shadows of the alley. Even then, Sparrow said there had to be something good about them or they would not be called candy, so she took what the other two did not want.

It was dark by the time they were dragging the trunks in the direction of Miss Selkirk’s automobile, parked out in the Muggle street. The alley had changed as the human’s sun went down, and seemed to be a different world totally than the busy beehive of humans before. The crowd inside the Leaky Cauldron had grown until even Miss Selkirk could not make space through the crowd for the three students trailing behind, or at least until a huge human at the bar spotted them and plowed forward.

“Make way,” he rumbled, waving a tankard that looked as if it could hold several gallons of cider. “Let the young ladies through. Budge up there, Kinkaid!” A hefty human who had been reluctant to move out of their way suddenly found himself picked up by one massive hand and deposited on a tall shelf overlooking the bar area.

“Thank you, Hagrid!” Miss Selkirk had to fairly shout to be heard, and hustled the three of them through the open space until they were once more outside in the cooling night air. To Sweetie’s disappointment, the sky was obscured by low clouds, the used book store was closed, and humans heavily dressed in shabby clothes shuffled down the shadowed sidewalks like mindless zombies.

“Stay close, children,” ordered Miss Selkirk. The walk back to the automobile seemed much longer than before, and Sparrow took the flashlight off her knapsack and turned it on to provide some additional illumination. Since only about half of the street lights were functioning, putting out a sickly yellow glow that turned all the automobiles the same color, it was an exceedingly good idea, far better than Sweetie changing back into her normal shape and using a light spell with her horn.

It was a great relief when Sparrow finally pointed out Miss Selkirk’s Volvo and she opened the trunk so they could put their trunks inside, a clever play on human language that Wycliffe did not understand but Sweetie thought was so neat. It was easier to say than to do, because the trunks were both bulky and heavy, and another automobile had parked rather close behind them. It took the helpful assistance of a large human passing by to boost the trunks up one at a time and stuff them into the open space, which turned out to barely be large enough once Wycliffe was put in the front seat and packed around, and Sparrow wedged herself in back, leaving a spot for Sweetie to sit on her lap. It was very nice of the tall dark man, and Sweetie had to thank him once they were done stuffing and wedging.

“Thank you, sir,” she said politely, bobbing her head in as close to a polite bow as she could do in her human form without risking a tumble. “We really appreciate your help.”

The tall man smiled in the shadows, a brief glint of brilliant white teeth in sharp contrast to his dark face. “Think nothing of it, young lady. I think you will find our world quite friendly in places, and I hope the three of you enjoy your time at school. Now, hop inside so you can get home. Not everything out in the night is friendly, after all.”

* * *

The Crystal Empire was nothing like Hogwarts in far too many ways. Then there was a way in which it was far too much like Theodore’s school, and he was reminded of that particular quirk after the first day of studying with New Leaf.

In the muggle movies, some hero sent to a dangerous world would have been shooting aliens and romancing girls a few minutes after arriving. In the Crystal Empire, that would have made for an extraordinarily short movie, since all of the girls were the aliens. To be honest, Theodore intended on going out to see the city as soon as possible. He just wanted to know what kind of traps he was sticking his head into. And that meant homework. Lots and lots of homework.

Granite Peaks and his teams had cleaned out most of the obvious dangers already, scrubbed the dark crystals back to their original colors, purged what could be called ‘security stations’ throughout the city, and managed to get a start on secret rooms and laboratories. If Sombra had been sane, it would have been an easier job, but then again, it would have made this problem moot.

Some of the installations seemed designed to kill whoever poked their curious horns in, and with entrapping curses that grew stronger with the strength of the horn. It was no wonder that Granite Peaks had added griffons to his team, and likewise that Princess Celestia or Princess Cadence did not add their skills to the cleaning. Reading up about defusing and disarming those curses was an exercise in twisted logic that was helped by his Slytherin training, but not enough to keep him from being totally surrounded by a sea of discarded paper notes by the time he was too tired to keep his eyes open.

“Good heavens,” he managed with a look at his gnome alarm clock, which had just given out a low snore from where it was snoozing on a nearby shelf with both gnarled hands over its eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this late? Leaf, you should get to your room. We’ll take after this again tomorrow morning.”

“Eh?” New Leaf looked up with a piece of paper stuck to his nose, which took several quick shakes and a sneeze to blow free. “Oh. Um… Room. Right.”

The way the unicorn said the word spoke much louder than any Legilimency lessons Theodore had ever gotten from Professor Snape.

“You don’t have a room.” It was most certainly not a question, although Leaf looked as if he were about to treat it as one. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sleeping in the streets since you returned to the Crystal Empire.”

“No.” That, at least, was a firm and unmistakable truth, complete with a low shudder that traveled down Leaf’s coat. “Spaces here in the castle. Places where nopony looks.”

“And if you ever went missing, nobody would ever know where to look for you.” Theodore shook off his growing fatigue and managed to stand up. “I’ll get you some blankets.”

“No, I can just—”

“I didn’t ask,” snapped Theodore, a little sharper than he intended. He managed to find the bedroom’s closet, a room that ponies and people had in common, and drew out several glittering blankets that were more works of art than practical. “Peaks said I was supposed to look after you.”

The miserable blue-green unicorn slumped in one spot while Theodore unfolded the blankets into a pad against the cold crystal floor, then folded one back to use as a cover. It was not much of a bed, but it certainly beat any place in the castle where he might huddle, and it gave his partner access to a bathroom. To be honest, if Leaf was around him too much longer without a real bath, the temptation to drag him into a bathtub and scrub might have become irresistible.

After taking care of his own bathroom needs in the awkwardly low facilities, he really did not expect to see Leaf when he returned to the bedroom. Still, there was a lump under the blanket and the faint sound of nervous breathing when Theodore climbed into his own bed.

It was… comforting in a way, because Theodore had gotten used to sleeping in the Slytherin dormitories despite, not because, of his fellow mischievous students. The world was a harsh, cruel place, and his House taught that lesson every time anyone slacked in their diligence. From the minor curses and charms every student learned to put on their possessions, to dodging Stinging Hexes in the corridors, every minute was spent being alert. Only the beds were off-limits to mischief, mostly because a waking wizard student with eels under the sheets tended to violent and vengeful spellslinging. Oh, and God forbid one of the upperclassmen decide that a lower year student needed some extra ‘attention’ in the form of curses or malicious potions they were unable to counter. The bully’s peer group took care of that.

So lying in bed while listening to the various breathing and snores of his fellow students had become a part of his life he never got to experience at home. It would be lost forever once New Leaf found his own room, or worst case when Theodore returned to his cold and empty home on the edge of the familiar bog, far away from the colorful unicorn and his kind. That’s not to say he trusted the cowardly teal twit or any other four-legged resident of this strange place. The fact that one of his highest priorities upon settling in was casting few quick warning charms around his bed proved that.

And yet… if in some world Theodore had been part of the Dark Lord’s inner circle and fled when he was destroyed, he really could not see any possibility where he would have the nerve to return and face the people who had been harmed. It had been hard enough for Theodore to plan his return for a second Seventh Year in Hogwarts knowing he had not intentionally harmed any of the students remaining, even the ones who had chosen their school over certain destruction. Who was more of a coward, the quivering unicorn who faced his fears, or the human wizard who had been avoiding them for so long.

So how could he consider himself to be superior to New Leaf?

It was a troublesome thought that followed him like a hungry Dementor no matter where he tried to direct his mind. This new world of ponies and crystal was supposed to be better than his previous life, but he found himself once again feeling inferior to someone he could not exceed either morally or academically. Eventually sleep claimed him, sweeping him up on billowing wings of darkness into an alien sky filled with swirling stars.

* * *

“Hey, Ponygirl. Mind if I come up?” There was a fairly narrow strip of steep roof to one side of her bedroom balcony which Sweetie would not have attempted climbing as a pony. Humans were more monkey than she had originally thought, and to see Sparrow scoot up the strip of roof tiles with a pizza box in one hand only reinforced that idea. Sweetie Belle would not have climbed up on the roof if she was not so… Well, she was not about to admit it out loud, but only a few days into her year of school, before she had even seen the school, she was homesick. So she had told Miss Selkirk she wanted to watch the stars for an hour or so before bedtime, and without any adult supervision at all, scooted right on up to the top of the roof much the same as she had spent many nights with her friends on top of their clubhouse in the apple orchard.

Sparrow settled down next to her and plopped the cooling pizza box down on her knees. “I kept a couple pieces of the cheese pizza and some breadsticks for you, but the supreme is all mine.” After one cheese-dribbling bite, the tall girl gave out a low groan of pleasure. “American food rocks.”

“I’m not really hungry. I just wanted to watch the stars,” admitted Sweetie in a tiny little lie. She took a slice out of the Pizza Hut box anyway and bit in, letting the familiar squish of molten cheese and tomato sauce carry her home for a moment. Rarity never ate more than a single slice whenever they picked up pizza at home, but the icebox was always empty of leftovers the next morning. Personally, Sweetie thought the primary reason for ordering out when their parents left on a trip was so she could not use the kitchen, which was totally unfair.

“You got different stars at home?” managed Sparrow through the muffling application of nearly a complete slice of pizza stuffed into her mouth at once.

“I think so,” offered Sweetie with a glance upward. “Nothing looks really familiar, although Princess Luna sometimes moves them around when she gets bored, and it takes a few weeks for everypony to get used to their new positions. She normally keeps the constellations the same, or ponies complain.”

After a lick to catch a departing drip of cheese, Sparrow snorted. “Moves the stars around? They’re like bazillions of miles away. But I suppose,” she added in a more thoughtful tone, “you wouldn’t lie to me, so the rules must be different in another dimension full of talking horses.”

“She said they’re ponies, not horses.” Wycliffe poked his nose around the corner of the balcony and regarded the two girls sitting on the peak of the roof. He seemed more interested in the pizza box than company, and walked straight up the roof much like he did it every day. “Any pineapple in that box?” he asked once he had gotten settled down on the other side of Sparrow.

“Dunham got that one. Supreme?” The two humans ate while Sweetie gnawed at the crust of her slice, although Sparrow was the first to speak up when the pizza was all gone. “Homesick?”

“Yeah,” sighed Sweetie at the same moment that Wycliffe said, “Yes.”

“Wait a sec.” Without a place to put the empty pizza box on the rooftop, Sparrow wound up sticking it under one arm so she could gesture at Wycliffe. “I can understand why Sweetie’s moping since she’s from a whole ‘nother galaxy, but you live like… over there somewhere.”

“That does not prevent me from missing my home. I am… not used to people. My father was not well liked, and he did not bring me into towns for most purposes, so it was mostly just him and my brother at our House. Oh, and our house elves, Peas and Carrots.” He looked morosely at the last chunk of pizza crust before eating it. “I’ve never had pizza before,” he managed while chewing. “It’s good.”

“You have elves as servants?” Sparrow gave the short frown she used while thinking. “I’ve heard of Wood Elves and High Elves from Dungeons and Dragons, but not that kind. I brought my book in case somebody at school is running a game,” she added. “My paladin is only eighth level, but he’s got a magic sword and all kinds of gear.”

“Is that anything like Ogres and Oubliettes?” asked Sweetie. “Where you make hero characters on paper and go vanquish monsters and eat snacks? Because I never played the game with Spike and his friends, even though it sounded cool.”

Wycliffe watched them both with a puzzled expression, then swallowed the last of his pizza. “I can see we all have much to learn before school even starts. I have to admit—” he waved one hand at the roof of the house, and the sight of the London neighborhood spread out in the moonlit darkness all around them “—this is far better than the way I expected to begin my term at Hogwarts. I thought everybody there would be the same as each other, and so much different from me.”

“The best part about meeting new ponies… that is people, is making new friends,” chirped Sweetie. “Do you think your brother is making friends in Equestria too?”

“I doubt it.” Wycliffe looked up in the sky where a moving light among the stars showed there was some sort of flying craft or creature sharing the night with them. “Neither of us really ever made friends. When we get to Hogwarts, I’ll probably be sorted into a different House and hardly ever see you again, so we won’t get a chance to be friends there either.”

“I have a magic diary to keep in touch with everypony at home,” said Sweetie Belle. “And Sparrow has her telephone to talk to her parents and friends. You’ll be in the same school, so there’s no reason we can’t see you every day.”

“That’s… true,” he admitted. “And somebody needs to keep you properly informed on certain traditions of the wizarding world. Such as we don’t normally eat on rooftops.”

Sweetie shared a giggle with Sparrow, and after a long time and much encouragement, Wycliffe joined in. They stayed on the roof and talked until quite late, watching the stars and exchanging stories until Miss Selkirk called them inside. Tomorrow was going to be spent getting all of their new stuff together and packed into trunks, then the next day would be a train ride to the new school. It was going to be so exciting, but today had been exciting and long too. She was starting to yawn at odd places in their conversation anyway, and really had not wanted to fall off the roof.

After a brief but quiet shower since all the rest of the boarders were in bed, she let Miss Selkirk dress her in the plush pajamas they had purchased earlier, clip out the tiny scratchy tags, and tuck her into the bottom bunk while Sparrow bounced up into the top one. The two of them chatted briefly while Miss Selkirk got Wycliffe situated in the bedroom next door, then obediently were quiet again when she peeked back in on them.

It seemed unfair how quickly sleep claimed Sweetie, like an opponent held back for far too long before pouncing. But perhaps it was merely pent-up anticipation, because the sooner she went to sleep, the sooner they could get ready for their adventure in the new school.

Soon, her dreams were filled with new friends and exciting places to explore with them.

* * *

Headmistress McGonagall could not sleep. She wanted to, but despite the clatter of the train rails and the lateness of the hour, her responsibilities kept her going just as much as the Hogwarts Express was on its trip back to London. That, and she was faced with a stack of paperwork on the dining car table that did not seem to get smaller no matter how much she read and signed. On a normal year, Minerva had always wondered how Headmaster Dumbledore managed to keep up with all of the work involved. Even with the loan of her assistant from the Ministry of Magic tonight, the job was a crushing weight that no sane witch or wizard would accept. Thankfully, sanity had never been a serious qualification for Hogwarts staff, or their assistants.

“Mister Weasley,” she said abruptly, putting her quill aside and leafing through the stack of untouched papers, “that position as Gryffindor Head of House. Have there been any more applications? Anybody who might possibly be both competent and sober most of the time?” She added under her breath, “For two Knuts, I’d hire Gilderoy again.”

Percy Weasley had promptly grabbed three sheets of paper out of his own stack, but put them back once she qualified her question. He shuffled through some additional applications, sorting them by whatever process he had determined, which spoke volumes.

“Stop that,” she cautioned. “When vacancies occur among the staff at Hogwarts, the Headmaster or Headmistress has the authority to appoint an interim Associate Head of House, pending a permanent replacement. We’ve been through enough applications tonight to know there’s not a witch or wizard qualified to sit on this anthill who is insane enough to have applied. Therefore, as Headmistress of Hogwarts, I’m making an executive decision. Until we get a qualified permanent applicant for Gryffindor Head of House, you’re it.”

“What?” Papers scattered as Percy rather redundantly pointed to himself. “Me? I don’t have the qualifications, or—”

“You’ve been Prefect, then Head Boy in your House,” started McGonagall quite firmly. “Considering you had to cope with your brothers, those honors alone would qualify you to ride herd over this bunch. You’ve been assistant to the Minister of Magic under Fudge and Scrimgeour since then and came out of that fiasco alive, so that counts in your favor also. Besides, this will be the smallest class at Hogwarts that we’ve seen since Voldemort first rose to power years ago. There’s just one thing I have to know.”

Minerva locked eyes with the eager young man, who looked so much like a puppy who had just seen a ball that she wanted to roll up her copy of the Daily Prophet and thwack him across the nose.

“I want to hear how you will deal with rulebreakers within your House.”

“Sternly and immediately,” said Percy without a pause. “The rules are there for a reason, after all. Um… That is how you want the rules to be enforced, is it not?” he added, when Minerva pushed her glasses up and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“That is how the governors wish the rules to be interpreted, yes. And how the Ministry would enforce them. Percival, I don’t see how in the world the Sorting Hat ever put you into my House,” she added in a huff. “I don’t think you’ve broken a single rule during your entire term at school. Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff would have been absolutely overjoyed to have you. What did the hat say to you during Sorting?”

“Um…” Percy squirmed and looked out the train window at the darkness rushing past. “Perhaps it mentioned them in passing. My older brothers had been Sorted into Gryffindor, so that’s what I really expected.” After a period of silence, he added, “And I have broken some of the rules. I just didn’t get caught.”

“Ah, so that’s it. A bit of Salazar Slytherin in you.” Minerva leaned back in her chair and took her reading glasses off. “You do realize, Mister Weasley, what a hatstall is?”

Having red hair only made Percy’s blush harder for him to conceal. “I know I took quite some time for the Sorting Hat to—”

“It took four and a half minutes for the hat to place me in Gryffindor,” continued Minerva. “Longer than your four, and yet not as long as Professor Flitwick, who refuses to admit just how long it took for him to be placed in Ravenclaw. I believe the record is somewhere on the order of a half-hour,” she added before Percy could ask the obvious question. “All of the most promising students take more time, but four minutes is about the peak for the last few decades. You see, more powerful wizards do not fall neatly into one of four pigeonholes, much as the rules at Hogwarts do not align themselves perfectly with desired behavior.”

“So,” started Percy, who was obviously confused, “you want me to administer the House more like… Dumbledore?”

“Heavens forbid!” Minerva gave her new Associate Head of House a most discouraging glare. “I want you to administer it as yourself, in a way that Godrick Gryffindor would approve. I don’t want you to encourage the youthful malcontentents, or crush them beneath your heel. Use your judgement to discourage the more energetic children from destroying the castle so soon after we have just put it all back together.”

She reached across the table abruptly to take his hand in hers, a little shocked at how soft and warm his fingers felt compared to her old, cold self. “Your brother gave his life in the fight against Voldemort. I expect if you look in your own heart, you will find the vigor and enthusiasm with which he faced death. Use that, cherish that joy, in the same way that generations of Heads of Houses look at the students and see their own faces reflected back at them. Do him proud, and you cannot go wrong. Even if you only hold the position for a few months to a year, you will find the experience will change you for the better, and you will forever cherish those moments.”

After blinking back a tear, Percy gave her hand a gentle squeeze back. “Thank you, Professor… that is Headmistress. I can’t promise perfection, but I will try.” He managed a wan smile. “After all, if I muck things up too much, I would not put it past Fred to come back as a ghost and haunt me out of the castle.”

“That’s the spirit.” Suppressing a grim chuckle at the unexpected pun, Minerva continued, “If you survive until the end of term, I expect you to have a bare minimum of three things you dare not tell me or the Ministry. Lord only knows I have a list I’m taking to my grave, several of which involve your brothers.”

“I’m… afraid I don’t understand, Headmistress.”

“That’s quite all right, my dear boy. You will,” said Minerva, patting Percy on the cheek. “Besides, I’ve been at Hogwarts for decades, and I understand it a little less each year. Now, we’ll be arriving in London shortly, and I have a few last-minute student meetings scheduled for tomorrow. I expect you need to inform Minister Shacklebolt of your new placing, and not tonight. Kingsley is very protective of his evenings. First thing in the morning should do nicely.”

Minerva pulled several folders out of the stack of papers and pushed the remainder over to Percy’s side of the table. “That gives you this evening to go over the remaining paperwork while I get some rest at the Leaky Cauldron. After all, Dumbledore taught me the first benefit of being a headmistress is passing the work down. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow at Hogwarts, Professor Weasley.”

The confounded look of awe and terror on Percy’s face was a warm pleasure that Minerva treasured while walking to the front of the train, taking the last few minutes of their trip to make one last check.

The maintenance workers and engineers would spend tomorrow getting the creaky old engine back into perfect shape for its limited run, although the muggles among the workers would have to be quietly Obliviated afterward. Still, she had to wonder just how effective such memory charms were when so many of the same muggles lined up to volunteer for the duty every year. Perhaps the old girl was attractive to her human attendees, like some grand dame with a collection of young suitors in love with her graceful lines and stately demeanor despite being over a century and a half old. It almost made Minerva feel a twinge of envy as she brushed one hand along the brass railings and sculpted scrollwork. To sleep for months at a time, then awaken to the tread of youthful feet and hear their delighted chatter.

She gently patted the side of the car and listened to the creaks and clatter of the ancient machine, so much like the Hogwarts castle, although for a moment, she had to wonder if the train dreamed during its slumber.

And a short time later as she settled into her own bed in the Leaky Cauldron, the idea remained and filled her own dreams with odd wonder. Of expanding mechanical wings that brought trains soaring into the sky and the joy of an ancient castle as it felt the dancing feet of celebrating youth, while above all, the luminous moon shone down with a silver light.

It was the best sleep she had in years.

12. Guardians

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Guardians

Today was the day Theodore would have taken his brother to Hogwarts, a complicated day indeed. It certainly would not have been easy for the two of them. Physically, it would mean struggling with two sets of trunks, trying to keep his little brother out from underfoot as they managed the Floo connection to the nearest town with a wizarding enclave, then taking a portkey to London. It had always seemed to be such a waste of resources when the school was a short trip from their House, but as he grew older and wiser, he began to recognize the method behind the madness. In days long gone, each individual student would struggle by Floo or carriage or apparition with parents and smaller siblings to overwhelm the nearby town of Hogsmeade. Requiring the children to ride the train both separated them from their parental bond and caused them to form bonds among each other before school had even started. So how few bonds would Wycliffe be forming as a shunned son of a dying Death Eater, trapped in a train full of children who loathed him? No matter how quiet the small boy was, he certainly would draw unwelcome social attention, if not physical violence.

Right now, Theodore got attention no matter how quietly he crept out of bed in the pre-dawn murk. An alert blue-green ear sticking out of the nearby blanket pile would twitch and pivot to track his every slipper-clad step as he padded over to the next room and checked on any of his potions still brewing, then stepped to the balcony and looked out over the glittering city below.

It was worth it. Every time he opened the balcony doors was like the first time, with the overwhelming beauty of the place crashing in and filling his heart with unfamiliar joy. The city was unbelievably impressive to the point that the single picture he had attempted to take of the view came out as nothing but white paper that glittered in the sunlight. He had even given serious consideration to getting his paints out and creating a landscape of the city to treasure when he returned home, if not for a terrible lack of sparkles in the pigments.

And yet… every time he stepped onto the balcony, he could feel eyes watching him in return. Red, smokey, terrifying eyes that bored into the back of his head with an impassive hatred, seeing him as an obstacle on the path to total domination over the entire world. Even when Theodore had met the Dark Lord in person at the Battle of Hogwarts, there had been more warmth and compassion in that slit-eyed gaze than—

“You feel it too.” Theodore almost went over the balcony rail when he jumped but managed to keep from snapping at his fellow cursebreaker when he turned around, mostly because of the forlorn expression on New Leaf’s face. “Other than the Royal Family, you’re the only creature here that I can be absolutely certain isn’t going to turn into one of Sombra’s slaves and kill me.”

“Sombra’s dead,” said Theodore with less veracity than he wanted. “We’re trying to unwind the traps and schemes of a corpse.”

A long shudder went down New Leaf’s bare coat, less from the cool morning breeze and more likely from a suppressed memory of Sombra’s reign. It made Theodore regain some of his original calm by contrast, and look at the situation from a four-legged point of view. To be honest, he had been making a few contingency plans on his own, and it would not hurt to share them with his fellow cursebreaker, just in case.

“If it will make you feel better, I’ll show you some wizard magic I plan on using just in the event something goes wrong. After finding out so much about your former king, there’s no way I’m staying if something else dreadful happens, and I’m not leaving without you. Here.”

Bending down a little in his nightgown, Theodore put one arm around the back of the trembling unicorn and apparated. The twisting churn of movement was familiar enough that he did not even stumble when they touched down on the Empire’s train station platform less than a mile away, although the brisk morning air was less than comfortable blowing up against his bare legs.

“This is my first stop,” said Theodore, pointing down the empty railroad tracks. “I can establish more familiar points in that direction later. Princess Cadence said the shield over the Empire might disrupt any spells, so we would have to walk across the barrier to the old train station before apparating any further. Are… you feeling alright?”

Leaf had taken a few rapid steps in the direction of a trash can and was busily making sick noises into it, so the question was rather foolish in hindsight. From the unicorn’s reactions, a return trip by the same method would not be welcome either, so Theodore considered the chill morning streets, the small bag filled with ‘bits’ he had in one pocket, and their relative lack of practical exploration among the buildings and shops of the city. A quick wave of his wand and a Transformation spell turned the thin nightshirt into something thicker and a little more in line with public exposure, even colored a daring (for a wizard) light teal to make Leaf feel more comfortable also.

“When you’re done,” said Theodore over the sound of the retching unicorn, “let’s take a walk back to the castle, make some casual observations, and see about breakfast to replace what you lost. Does that sound acceptable?”

After one last quiet retching noise, Leaf nodded, his head still in the trash can.

“And when we get back to the castle,” added Theodore, “you’re taking a bath.”

It was, as Theodore considered, a lot like having a pet, although he wondered if Granite Peaks thought the same about him.

* * *

Morning, morning, morning! Sweetie could not hold back as she bounced out of bed and headed downstairs. Today, they were going to the new school, and she was going to meet so many new friends! The rest of the boarders had just begun to emerge from their own rooms, except Percival, who was snoozing against the dining room table with papers scattered all over. She danced between their legs with a happy clatter of hooves, feeling the joy welling up inside her until it could not be contained.

Really, the first stanza was the most difficult, but as she flung herself into the song, the others joined in. Old and young, happy or sad, the music swelled up among them until they all were singing at the top of their lungs. There were so many words that rhymed with Hogwarts, or school, or even classes, that she felt as if the song could go forever.

That is until the toaster exploded in sparks and chunks of burning bread, and the glorious song trailed to an end.

“What was that?” managed Wycliffe, who had just gotten a dozen eggs out of the icebox during the chorus and was holding one in the palm of his hand when the first chunk of carbonized toast blasted through the air.

The rest of the boarders were similarly stunned, with Percy holding the giant paper flower he had made out of his paperwork and looking most flummoxed of all.

“Awsome!” declared Sparrow. “Wizarding school is like a musical! This is going to be so cool!”

“I don’t think…” Miss Selkirk hesitated as the rest of the boarders began to cautiously pick their way down from standing on the dining room table or perched on various chairs. “Was that normal, Sweetie?”

“No, not really,” admitted Sweetie while stretched across a chair in her human form, trying to reach the chunk of blackened toast hiding under the table. “We didn’t even make it to the chorus a second time.”

“Wanna try again?” asked Sparrow. She dropped eggs one at a time into the water boiling on the stove while Wycliffe handed them over. “I mean Wy’s got a beautiful voice, and—”

“I don’t either!” protested Wycliffe. He fumbled with the empty egg carton, then closed the icebox door. “Besides, we have a schedule this morning.”

“Very true.” Miss Selkirk put down the wooden spoon she had been using to conduct their musical number and hustled the three students out of the kitchen. The other boarders did not seem upset about the interruption at all, and chattered endlessly during breakfast about how it reminded them of the Yule Ball at Hogwarts, or other such youthful indiscretions of their school years. By the time they were ready to step into the fireplace and go to work, they were all singing the Hogwarts official school song together, which made Sweetie a little worried that they would all wind up at some place called ‘Bits of Fluff’ but Miss Selkirk did not seem concerned.

“Now that we’ve all had our excitement for the morning,” she started, looking very serious except for the upwards quirk around one corner of her mouth, “let’s get you three breakfast and load your trunks into the car. Mister Weasley helped put a few Expansion Charms on it last night so everything should fit much better, and we should have enough time to do a little sightseeing before getting lunch and taking you to King’s Cross station.”

“Where we’ll meet all the other students and ride the train to school,” said Sweetie with nearly a squeal. “I’m so excited I could almost—”

Despite Wycliffe’s hand firmly placed over her mouth, Sweetie still wanted to break into song.

* * *

It was only a few days into Theodore Nott’s Equestrian experience, and he already was considering murder. Not Granite Peaks, who had joined their review of the cursebreakers’ reports this morning. Nor New Leaf, who was proving to be an extraordinary student of wizarding detection charms and countercurses. Even the various sparkling and glittering natives of the Crystal Empire who found any excuse at all to stop by his open door and peek in were all safe from his current murderous musings.

He would have killed for a cup of coffee. Mostly figuratively, but it was probably wise not to test the issue if a real cup of steaming black coffee, three sugars, just a pinch of salt, were to appear on the paper-strewn table where the three of them were hashing out ideas.

“Sir?” There was one of the sparkling Crystal Guards at the doorway to their workroom, Gneiss if Theodore remembered his striated grey and cream coat correctly. He was more friendly than most of the grim guards around the castle, although he was ever so stern and formal now, with his back held straight and looking directly forward. “Granite Peaks, do you have you a moment? Her Highness would like to speak to your assistant.”

“Me?” squeaked New Leaf while shuffling around the table as if he were about to dive under it.

“No,” said Gneiss, which left only one assistant as a possibility.

“I’ll talk with Princess Cadence. You two keep working,” said Theodore, getting awkwardly to his feet. Equestrian chairs were comfortable, but sitting in one for several hours took its toll. “Maybe she just wants to invite us to lunch,” he added with a glance at his garden gnome alarm clock, which had both hands resting on its round belly and a mournful look of extreme starvation.

He skirted around Gneiss and headed for the apartment door, since the guard always seemed to prefer a slow march rather than a brisk trot, yet another thing that Hogwarts had taught Theodore in order to reach distant classes on-time.

Of course at Hogwarts, one never ran straight into the Night when stepping into a corridor.

Princess Luna really needed no introduction, although Theodore quite nearly caught her horn right between his eyes at the speed he was traveling. A polite introduction would have been preferable than his stammering and backpedaling, only made worse by…

Well…

There was just something unearthly attractive about her, beyond the washed-out sensation of raw power simmering beneath the surface like ten thousand stars all brought together. Where Celestia’s mane and tail were shimmering pastel, hers were an endless depth of star-strewn space that he could lose himself in admiring. She was not as tall as Celestia, although he had kept a respectful distance away from the Alicorn of the Sun.

Being this close let Theodore actually see beneath the image the former rulers of Equestria cast, much like taking a powerful telescope to the stars to find out their secrets. This close, he could easily believe Celestia’s story about the lonely princess who turned to madness when nobody appreciated her artistry. Meeting her mid-day was probably a good thing, because an abrupt encounter like this at night would have overwhelmed his ongoing effort to resist pony innate cuteness, and there might have been hugs involved.

…followed promptly by some sort of Equestrian royal beat-down and being evicted through the human side of the mirror at an unsafe velocity.

“Your Highness!” he managed after a quick breath and a sincere hope he had not been staring too long. It would have been a good start if he had not still been distracted by her presence, plus the lingering scent of eucalyptus from where he had brushed his nose against her flowing mane. One thing a Slytherin was trained to avoid was honesty at all costs, proven when he continued digging his hole by saying, “You look terrible.”

‘Sleep-deprived’ was the largest portion of her visage, and the look he received in response from bloodshot teal eyes gave Theodore a sudden urge to grovel for his life, or perhaps fetch her a pillow.

“Due to the lateness of the hour, we shall eschew pleasantries and proceed directly to the point,” said the dark princess in a flat undertone that nonetheless managed to entrance Theodore with its musical lilt and directness. “Doth thy world still practice the art of arcane portraiture? That is creating a painting of a deceased individual by which to capture an inconsequential fragment of its arcane essence, used as a convenient reference to the one who came before or a messenger who can pass from enchantment to enchantment until it reaches the desired destination?”

“Ah… Yes,” said Theodore hesitantly. “It is an advanced Seventh Year charm. Hogwarts castle is full of them.”

“And are you proficient in the creation of such enchantments?” continued Princess Luna before Theodore had quite finished speaking.

He nodded this time.

“Good.” Princess Luna nearly trampled Gneiss as she strode forward into Theodore Nott’s suite of rooms. The guard looked nearly as confused about the behavior of the larger princess as Theodore, although Granite Peaks moved to block her entrance into the room where they had been looking over the other cursebreakers’ notes.

“Your Highness!” The older unicorn was fairly bristling like an irritated hound, and Theodore noticed the faint rising of hairs around his upper lip that indicated the bare beginnings or faint memory of a mustache. “We are working!”

“As are we,” responded the dark princess. She paused to breathe, a labored effort that seemed to stir ancient dust around the room, and for a moment when the floating stars in her mane slowed to mere whirls, she seemed aged every year of the thousand that Celestia had spoken. “The strain of casting ourself into the Dreaming so far from home is vexing. The spell which Rowena Ravenclaw didst craft offers hope for a solution, for although we cannot be in two places at once, we may create a proxy to act in our stead.”

“It only works on wizards who are dead,” said Theodore, who found himself the subject of a brief, contemptuous glance as if he were a toddler offering advice on baking cookies.

“Obviously,” said Luna. “For mortals, the act of death separates flesh from spirit.”

“So if I use the Portrait Charm for the trapped cursebreakers,” said Theodore in a flash of inspiration, “and it fails, we’ll know for certain they’re still alive.”

There was an obvious pause in the ancient alicorn’s thoughts, and she nodded with a modicum of approval. “An ingenious step to freeing your imprisoned comrades,” she said, sounding more optimistic. “For now, we have need of your skills in this regard. Retired or not, we shall not shirk from our responsibilities to our subjects, and with Sweetie Belle in such a strange new place, she will certainly need our protective wings again to guard her dreams from the terrors of the night.”

“Again?” Theodore could feel his heart beat even faster with excitement. Dream magic was an erratic and unsafe practice in the wizarding world. If he could convince Princess Luna to teach him to reliably walk the Unseen Path, there would be no barrier or ward that could conceal the secrets of his enemies. Of course, there would need to be a quid pro quo, and whatever task the Equestrian princess wanted did not seem too difficult on the surface.

* * *

“Did you ever wonder,” said Sparrow with her head out the automobile window so the wind could blow her hair dry, “how high a broom can go?”

Wycliffe did not respond, because he was sitting quietly on the right side of the passenger compartment, drying the last of the river water off himself with a purple towel. In addition, he was diligently studying the carpet on the Volvo’s floor while the outside world whizzed past, most likely a continuation of his previous bout of carsickness. Thus it was Sweetie’s responsibility as an Equestrian representative to answer the hypothetical question as best she could.

“I know Rainbow Dash at home can go way, way high, so high she can touch the moon.”

“The moon?” Sparrow pulled her head back in the car and shook her short, tangled mane. “The moon’s like a bazillion miles out there, and takes a giant rocket to reach.”

“Maybe your moon,” said Sweetie defensively. “My sister and her friends traveled there once by lassoing it and pulling it closer. Then they walked right up the rope and fought the nasty nightmares who lived there, and turned them all good.”

That was enough for Wycliffe to look up, begin to form a rebuttal, then put his head back down when the Volvo turned a corner.

“Tummy still upset from that ride in the boat?” asked Miss Selkirk.

After a brief nod, he swallowed and said, “It was worth it, though. I’ve never been on such a big bridge before, or rode in a blow-up boat like that.”

“All the tourism at twice the speed,” announced Sparrow. “All up and down the river and with all the other boats. And it was red!”

“It was a lot like being at home,” admitted Sweetie Belle, who took possession of Sparrow’s towel in order to dry her mane. “Only when we fall out of Scootaloo’s wagon, we get bumps and bruises instead of getting wet in the river.”

“I have photos of you three on the boats and next to the muggle Parliament when Big Ben chimed,” said Miss Selkirk over her shoulder as she maneuvered through traffic into the parking building. “And particularly the one of Sweetie petting the penguin at the aquarium. I’ll make sure to have Miss Mouser bring them to Hogwarts once they’re developed. I think you’ll find our photographs quite different from yours.”

Miss Selkirk seemed as happy as Sweetie had ever seen her, and even maintained her good mood when Sparrow dropped the corner of her trunk on a toe. The Volvo was tucked away in a big concrete building with other automobiles while the four of them crossed the street, towing their trunks across the street and into the gigantic railroad station. It was an awkward trip with all their luggage, made slightly easier when they entered Kings Cross Station and loaded their various boxes and trunks onto a fat-tyred trolly for each of them.

“Well, this is it,” Miss Selkirk announced, looking around the wide open space and all of the shiny new trains. “It’s been such a joy to have you girls around the house that I’m sad to see you go. You too, young man,” she added to Wycliffe.

“Thank you for your courtesy, Ma’am,” said Wycliffe quite formally in return. “You’ve been very… forgiving. I only hope the rest of the Hogwarts students are as well.”

Miss Selkirk knelt down right there in the middle of the people bustling back and forth to put one arm around Wycliffe and give him a brief hug. “Sweetie Belle helped me realize how important it is to be a child, and not to fret endlessly about the past when the future is more important. I can’t change the past. Hating you would not bring my husband and my daughter back. I’d be like those two miscreants in Diagon Alley, out to hurt you for something you never did.”

“Awww…” Sweetie Belle supplied the other half of the hug, with extra squeezieness. “This is so nice. And I’m not going to sing,” she added when Wycliffe lifted up one hand. “We have to catch our train. Which one is it?”

* * *

The answer to that question was more complicated than Sweetie expected. All of the fancy new trains with shiny parts and smooth shapes were muggle trains, and by some trick of wizard magic could not even find the tracks leading to the Hogsmeade station.

Sweetie thought she was doing to die from awesome overload if things kept getting better. Their path through the massive building was all very chaotic and busy with people moving in all directions just like ponies at home, and despite her new taller human height, the other humans were even taller, so she saw just as little, but what she saw filled her heart with the joy of exploration.

The train station had a secret passage that took them from the human-crowded area full of shiny trains and bright sunshine coming in from the glass-lined roof, to a still huge but more crowded chamber filled with bustling families and one enormous red train engine larger than anything she had ever seen in Equestria.

Miss Selkirk was pulling the fat-tyred trolley with all of Sweetie’s luggage on it, so both Sparrow and Wycliffe could keep a hand ready to put over her mouth from different sides.

“Just one song, before we get on the train?” she whimpered.

“No,” said both students at the same time, although Sparrow continued, “I mean it would be so cool, but really we don’t know anybody here and they might get upset and freak out.”

It was a reasonable caution, and worse, came from Sparrow so that made it more applicable.

She settled for skipping, which was a lot more fun with two legs than four. There were so many new humans to meet that she started to lose track of names as she met them and introduced herself over and over. They all looked so troubled and worried that she really could not help herself, and she was just trying to figure out how to slip a small song into the boarding process when she was ambushed by a crushing hug.

“Mom!” called out the saleswitch from the bookstore, who had gotten Sweetie wrapped up in her arms. “She’s over here! Hurry up!”

“I don’t think she’s getting away,” remarked Wycliffe as a pleasantly plump woman with red hair came bustling over. “You must be… Oh. Missus Weasley.” Sweetie could not see very well because her hugger was taller, but Wycliffe suddenly lost a lot of his hard-won confidence. The woman did not seem very terrifying, but more like Missus Cake at home…

Then again, Sweetie had seem Missus Cake once when she thought Pound Cake was in trouble. For a chubby mare, she was fast.

“Ginerva Weasley, you put that young girl down this instant! Oh! Beg pardon, young miss. Arthur told me all about you. Ginny!” The chubby witch had very strong fingers, and pried at Ginny’s arms until Sweetie could get a full breath of air.

Sparrow loaned her efforts into getting Sweetie a little more breathing space, adding, “It ain’t no guess that you’re a Weasley too, Ma’am. Since this is your daughter, right?”

“Yes, but normally she is much better behaved. Ginny, you are a Prefect this year, so try to act like it.”

“Ah, there you are, Mum.” Percival stepped up behind Missus Weasley and gave her a kiss on the top of her curly hair. “I see you’ve met Miss Belle. And Miss Lilley,” he added with a nod to Sparrow, then a questioning look to their other student. “I don’t believe I know your full name, Wycliffe?”

“Nott,” said Wycliffe, with a look much like somepony who was going to the dentist.

The squeezing, hugging, and general jovial atmosphere drained away in a heartbeat, leaving three Weasley’s staring at the short boy, and Sweetie Belle scrambling for something positive to say about her new friend that didn’t sound too icky.

“We know about his father,” she started, “and there’s a lot of humans who don’t like him because of what his father did, but that’s not a good reason. He’s almost alone in the world now, and he needs friends more than ever.”

“And he’s kinda cool,” admitted Sparrow, giving Wycliffe a ruffle on top of his bare head. “I mean when those two cretins attacked his uncle outside of the bar, he didn’t back down nothing at all, like a badger. That takes guts.”

“He’s been a perfect gentleman with the girls,” said Missus Selkirk unexpectedly. “Hogwarts would not have sent him a letter if he did not have potential.”

After some time, Percival took his hand off his mother’s shoulder, hesitated for a moment, and extended it toward Wycliffe. “If you are willing to attend Hogwarts, Mister Nott, it is the least I can do to assist. Dumbledore taught us that help will always be given at the school to those who ask, and it would besmirch his memory to turn you away.”

“Percy!” scolded Missus Weasley, her lips drawn into a thin line.

“I have to go along with Percy on this one, Mum.” Ginny spoke slowly and stuck out her own hand to shake. “Harry told me about Draco and Snape. We have to at least give him a chance.”

“But…” Missus Weasley’s eyes flashed as she looked between the five of them, then she took a deep breath from between clenched teeth, turned on her heel, and walked away with a brisk stride.

Sparrow eyed the two Weasleys remaining and asked, “Is your mother going to be okay?”

“We just came from a memorial service for one of Dad’s friends from work,” admitted Ginny Weasley. “It’s really a bad time—”

“To be a Death Eater’s son,” finished Wycliffe. “At least in Hogwarts, I’ll be reasonably safe. There have been rumors of the Dark Lord’s servants meeting terrible ends, and not by any humans. He made promises to some of the allies he recruited, and now that he has been defeated, they have come seeking their due.”

“Seeking their due?” Sweetie’s nose wrinkled up in concentration. “Really?”

“Well, I—” Wycliffe coughed “—read that phrase once, and it stuck in my head.”

“That’s all well and good,” said Ginny. She gathered up her trolley and turned them in the direction of the train. “Since I’m a prefect this year, it’s my responsibility to make sure all of the students are on board when we leave. Percy, thank you for coming to see me off, but — and I can’t believe I’m saying this — you should probably take Miss Selkirk and go talk some sense into Mum. Come along, girls. You too, Mister Nott.”

* * *

Theodore Nott did not like to display his artistic talent. True Slytherins did not paint pretty pictures, and were rather cruel to those who did. However, the intermix of magic and proportion involved in painting did reveal weaknesses and strengths in the subject, and a proper understanding of a spell was in effect a painting of understanding, or at least that was what he liked to think. Capturing a concept in etheric paint or in class notes were similar activities, and capturing the leftover ethereal bits of a departed witch or wizard mixed both ideas.

He was just a little puzzled about said etheric bits when the subject in question was quite alive.

“It will make more sense if you work while I explain.” With nobody else in his suite except for the Princess of the Night, Theodore was feeling a little nervous. The fact that the equine royalty was disrobing did not make his nerves feel any better. At least he could hide behind his easel and fiddle with the thaumically active paints, particularly the dark ones around blue and indigo.

The faint clicks of Princess Luna removing her silver hoof-boots had finished, but he could still see with peripheral vision as she used her unicorn magic to float off the ebon neck-kerchief and thin wire crown, placing them on his otherwise unremarkable bedstand.

His garden gnome alarm clock had both knobby hands over its eyes. Theodore was considering the same pose.

“You know of my dark past?” began Luna, now about as equinely naked as possible other than maybe eyeshadow.

“Vaguely,” said Theodore, trying to keep his eyes on the canvas. He could hear the creaking of bedsprings as the Equestrian princess laid down on his bed and made herself comfortable.

“I shall be brief. In our better years together, my sister and I defeated many enemies of Equestria. We were not always alicorns, as many think, and when we ascended to our powers of Sun and Moon, we used them all across the new nation. No ancient evil or lurking monsters could stand up against our combined magic, but Sombra escaped our cleansing by concealing his actions in shadows. He was, after all, a pony, and we were blind to the evils that could take root in our own kind. He claimed there was corruption in his lands, which took all his strength to keep at bay. We did not guess he was the source of this fel magic until too late, and before we could smite him as we had done so many other evils, he sealed his lands away in shadow forever, or so we thought.”

“I understand you took part in the creation of Hogwarts during this time, Your Highness?” asked Theodore out of growing curiosity.

“Briefly,” admitted Luna. “Starswirl the Bearded provided the portal, and we gave what assistance and advice we could to your four great founders. It was only for a week or two as we traveled back and forth, since we still held the responsibility of Sun and Moon. Even then, we quarreled bitterly, and our dispute affected the Pillars of Equestria. Six of the greatest heroes of our age, and their own growing disorder and internal strife should have been a sign to how the arguments between my sister and myself were affecting others.

“Then one day they were gone, and without Starswirl, the portal no longer responded to our magic.”

Despite his best efforts, Theodore glanced at the door to his suite and the dark indigo spell around the whole wall that showed just how sincerely Luna was taking her privacy. He had not even considered the possibility of being cut off from home, and made up his mind to be exceptionally polite to any bearded ponies he might meet in the future.

“We blamed each other, using the most hateful words imaginable,” said Luna quietly from his bed. “In my rage and frustration, I created a monster out of my darkest emotions. I would have destroyed my sister if she had not used the Elements of Harmony to imprison me in the moon.”

She said nothing more for a time, allowing the silence of the room to speak in her stead. Alone, in the cold of space, rejected by her only sibling. He could not even imagine her agony, endless and infinite.

“A thousand years,” she managed after a time. “I was weakened, but not destroyed. If Twilight Sparkle and her friends had not cleansed my corruption upon my return, I would have unleashed terrible vengeance upon the innocent, and ruled our lands from a throne of darkness. Uncounted multitudes would have died.”

Her voice had gotten muffled near the end of her sentence, so Theodore hazarded a peek, only to see Luna had covered her head with his pillow and was lying flat against the mattress with her wings and tail dragging on the bedroom floor.

“To prevent that event from ever happening again,” came Luna’s voice from beneath his pillow, “I crafted a heartless guardian, a stern jailor to keep me from venturing into such madness. A sliver of my soul called a Tantabus, which would watch over my dreams, and remind me of my failures forever. I thought it a wise precaution.” The alicorn’s laugh was bitter and filled with dark fatigue. “I was very much a fool. It nearly escaped and destroyed our beloved lands, if not for the assistance of Twilight Sparkle and her friends again.”

“They sound like very interesting people. I mean ponies,” corrected Theodore. “And your friends, also.”

“Truth.” Luna tucked her wings up and curled up under Theodore’s blanket, much like a large kitten and twice as cute, with only her nose sticking out. “I have learned a lesson more valuable than any other, to reach out to my friends instead of taking all of my failures upon myself. The Tantabus has been tamed by its experience with Twilight Sparkle, and I have guided it to more productive behavior, but it is still a relic of my past. If you can bring it out, place its essence upon canvas and paint, and make it useful to the future, you shall have my gratitude.”

His father had always said gratitude and a stack of galleons was far better than gratitude alone. The thoughts of his father and the old man’s ultimate fate distracted him while dabbing paint onto the canvas, sketching the contents of his room along with the lump under the blankets. House Nott had considerable history, and once after consuming far too much firewhisky, his father had reluctantly spoken about their distant ancestors. Every wizarding House in Britain claimed in some vague fashion to be related to Merlin or some other wizard of that age. Their House claimed one of the noble princesses of King Arthur’s court, with a name that changed at every telling. And Theodore had to admit, if a beautiful human princess had offered her gratitude for his present service, that would be a horse of a different color.

The process of painting gave him a sense of completion, a familiar element in a city of colorful ponies who lived in terror of the darkness stalking unseen among them. Since Princess Luna ruled over the world of dreams also, this city must be a gruesome briar patch of nightmares for her, filled with clawed and fanged aetherial monsters. He could even see their images in his mind’s eye, cowering away from a fierce alicorn princess with a body made of luminous starstuff, slashing and cutting the monsters until they fled in the terror they tried to bring.

He painted and painted until the tube of ebon pigment was empty, and he was nursing out a few tiny drips from the metal neck with the tip of his brush. The words of the spell were dry on the back of his tongue after repeating them for so long, but the results were…

The room and the painted bed looked far more like a room at Hogwarts than the two pony beds the Equestrians had pushed together for his own use, and the lump under the covers far more human in shape, but what was standing in front of the bed and looking back at him took Theodore’s breath away.

It was unmistakably an alicorn, formed of starstuff and the glory of the night sky with piercing teal eyes like comets and an expression of fierce restraint, much as if it were the charger for some ancient stellar knight, ready to do battle against star-monsters. The Portraiture spell had most certainly taken effect, because the defensive alicorn did not simply stand inert, but flowed across the mane and tail as if she were standing in some slow galactic breeze, and her eyes darted around the room, seeking unseen assailants in the shadows.

“So you’re the Tantubus,” whispered Theodore.

The star-alicorn in the painting nodded back at him mutely without lowering her guard a fraction.

“And you’re willing to travel to Hogwarts to protect the dreams of the pony Luna was talking about?”

Again, the painted alicorn nodded, although she swept a wing across the bed to reveal a young white unicorn, sleeping peacefully beneath the blankets.

It seemed awkward for Theodore, but after taking a quick peek at the sleeping Princess Luna on his bed, there did not appear to be anybody else in the bedroom awake, so he lowered his voice and added, “Will you watch after my brother Wycliffe also?”

At that, the alicorn thought for a moment, then swept her wing across the painted bed to reveal his brother curled up behind the sleeping unicorn, much like two peas in a pod.

“No. I mean…” Trying not to scowl, Theodore was still wrestling for words when the painted alicorn took a step to one side, revealing a much smaller alicorn made out of the same starstuff standing behind her. “Oh,” he added. “You mean you’ll protect them both like your own children?”

After one long, slow shake of her head, the painting blurred until it showed Hogwarts castle glowing in the moonlight with only a few windows still lit. And above the castle, encompassing it in her huge dark wings, the ebon alicorn of stars stood watch over it all.

It seemed reassuring enough for Theodore to excuse himself and leave Princess Luna to continue her well-needed nap in his bed. At least Wycliffe would be protected from one danger at Hogwarts, and he had much work left to do in the Crystal Empire today.

13. Somepony to Watch Over Me

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Somepony To Watch Over Me

The school felt eager. It was the only word McGonnagal could think of while standing in the basement boat dock, waiting on the First Years to be ferried across the moonlit lake in the magic boats. She took comfort in the distant furry bulk of Hagrid watching over them, much like a mother goose looking over her little goslings out for a swim, and tried to consider how the school considered the students.

True, they were uncontrollable little brats who never changed, scribbling on walls and sticking gum under desks, but only when watched carefully. Turn your back on some towheaded boy with buck teeth and a habit of scratching his nose, and when you saw a handsome lad on the pages of the Daily Prophet in the company of a moving pictures star, it took a while to recognize either of them. So how would a school that did not change for a thousand years view the granddaughter of some mischievous scamp who flooded its basement bathroom, or managed to knock a section of roof off with a mis-aimed broom?

“There you are, Headmistress.”

Then again, there were students like Percy Weasley who never were caught misbehaving in their entire life, during or after school. This evening, he looked every bit the prim and proper teacher or Ministry bureaucrat coming down the stairs, right up to his new pointed hat and Hogwarts instructor robes.

“Good evening, Professor Weasley. Or I suppose since you are not teaching a class this year, we might want to come up with a different title. Associate Head of House seems like such a mouthful.” The red-headed boy… or as Minerva needed to think of him, young man, who was walking down the stairway while adjusting his pointed hat just seemed so different than the spindly little child who walked up those stairs a few decades ago, and who practically vanished into the Sorting Hat when it was dropped on his head.

“Thank you, Headmistress.” Percy placed a stack of orange towels to one side and straightened up. “You know, I’ve come to the conclusion that most of the Hogwarts students could use a booster course in Ministry procedures, forms, and policy. I could set up a session during the open period for each of the Years, which should help the students keep from running afoul of the law by accident while out of school.”

“If you take away from their free periods, they may use your lessons to figure out which rules to break for maximum effect,” said McGonnagal. She gave the young man a pat on the arm. “You know, I’m going to miss your brothers so much in the coming years, particularly Fred. I railed against each of them in turn through the years, but I always harbored a secret dread that Fred would become a barrister and wind up practicing wizard law in the Wizengamot. It would stir those old fossils around like a whirlwind.”

Percy smiled at the idea, an expression which looked good on him. “A frightening thought indeed, Headmistress. And speaking of things being stirred around—”

“Just a moment, Percy.” McGonnagal squinted out at the lake. “One of the boats has flipped over. I didn’t think they were supposed to be able to do that.”

“I’m willing to bet our new exchange student was on board. Professor Trelawney told me to bring these down, just in case.” Percy took the stack of towels and unfolded one, although McGonnagal continued watching the ongoing debacle out in the moonlit lake.

“And there goes another one,” she said. “Hagrid makes quite a splash, doesn’t he? We’re going to need more towels.”

“Very well, Headmistress. Winky,” added Percy in a voice of familiar command. “Come out, please.”

There was a faint scurrying noise, and a squat creature barely higher than Percy’s waist poked her enormous tomato-like nose around the edge of the stairwell banister. “Does the master want Winky?” she slurred, sounding more than a little drunk. “Winky has been a good house-elf, hasn’t she?”

“I really don’t know,” said Percy. “I’ve only been here a few minutes, since I got the older students situated on their carriages and came on ahead to—”

“Yes, Winky has been a good house-elf,” said McGonnagal forcefully. “Now go get more towels. Immediately!” Only once the elf had vanished in a sharp pop, did she turn to her newest Head of House. “Professor Weasley, you must be very cautious about what you tell Winky. She hasn’t been quite right since poor Mister Crouch sacked her, and then the battle against Voldemort really disturbed all of the house elves. One suggestion that she has not been serving Hogwarts as she should, and God only knows how she’ll react. We’ll talk about this later during the staff meeting,” she added as the boats drew nearer.

“That’s what I came down here for originally, Headmistress. The Defense Against the Dark Arts and the new Muggle Studies professor arrived with me.” The young man checked the parchment he was carrying even though he should have known their names. “Professor Donavan and his wife. I was just wondering when you hired…”

“Not every decision in Hogwarts is for you to know,” said Minerva, trying not to wince at the number of flipped boats out in the lake, which only grew more numerous as the giant squid began to pluck struggling students out of the water and dump them back into empty boats. Panic seemed to be a great motivator, but it could not make inexperienced students walk on water, no matter how they tried. “The couple is just recently back from a long stay in Ghana, so I thought they would expand the students’ experience,” she continued over the screaming of the students in the lake. “You know, I’m starting to think we really should tell the incoming students about the giant squid before they arrive.”

“What fun would that be?” asked Percy, shrugging his shoulders. “Oh, and a dark lady with the most astonishing eyes upstairs gave me this parcel as well, and directed that I give it to you at once. Said she was a teacher here quite some time ago, and to see it placed into Sweetie Belle’s dormitory of whatever house she is Sorted into. I checked it for jinxes and curses,” he added when Minerva got out her wand.

“It never hurts to be thorough.” Minerva ran through a quick series of spells while keeping an eye on the First Years out in the lake, then opened the paper wrapping. The Portrait Charm on the painting inside was completed just as well as any professional could have done, with some flairs that she could recognize from the eldest Nott boy. Since it did not look like the First Years were going to reach the boathouse anytime soon, she peeled back the rest of the wrapping and looked at the contents.

The contents looked back.

“Good heavens!” Minerva tried to compose herself while the dark star-horse on the painting looked embarrassed at startling her, even going so far as to bring one wing of moving starstuff forward across her face as if to hide. One did not manage to stay a professor at Hogwarts for decades without having a flexible and swift mind, and Minerva did have the advantage of sitting down with Sweetie Belle for several hours discussion earlier, so a number of odd-sized blocks fell into place. One block in particular was sun-sized, and related to a woman of extraordinary stature and pale beauty named Celestia, so the other dark block was…

“Did Luna give you anything else, Percy?”

“Oh, yes. A letter in fact. Just a moment.” Percival stopped watching the ongoing wet disaster out in the lake and dug about in his pockets before retrieving a dark envelope with a silver quarter-moon embossed on it. “Here you go, Headmistress.”

The contents felt quite thick, leading her to believe it was well-worth reviewing before letting the other Heads of Houses read them, so Minerva slipped the letter into a pocket for later. She was more occupied watching the lake fiasco as students attempting to keep from flipping boats merely managed to flip more of them.

“Do remember that many of those students will be yours, Mister Weasley,” cautioned Minerva when Percy began to chuckle under his breath. That sobered up the young man quickly, even moreso when she patted him on the shoulder and turned for the stairs.

“Professor,” started Percy before backtracking. “I mean Headmistress. Aren’t you going to stay and escort the students upstairs to the Great Hall?”

“They are in quite capable hands, Professor Weasley.” Minerva began striding up the stairs with renewed vigor. “Just do be careful of the boat ramp when bringing the students in. It’s quite slippery when wet.”

He really should have been listening instead of watching Hagrid fall out of a boat again.

* * *

Swimming as a human was easier than swimming as a unicorn, and more fun. Of course, she had not intended on swimming this evening, but she had gotten so excited with all of her new friends, and she really didn’t think Wycliffe meant to push her into the lake when she took a deep breath and…

Well, even though her friends thought it was a bad idea, she had started to sing, and landing in the chilly water did stop her, so she really couldn’t be upset. Particularly when she accidentally tipped over the boat with Afred and Claude in it, and then Florence had screamed when she went into the water, which made Hagrid bend over to pick her out of the water… Anyway, it was not her fault. Or Sparrow’s, who had been shouting helpful advice that turned out to be not quite as helpful as it first seemed. Or even the underwater creature with the long tentacles, which seemed to be enjoying the task of picking students out of the water and putting them back into random boats.

Wizard school was so much fun!

“I bet I can jump over to the dock from here,” said Sparrow, who was streaming water out of her tangled hair and grinning like Pinkie Pie.

“I bet I can get there first!” Sweetie crouched with a squish from her soggy trainers, which she intended on taking back to Ponyville and showing off to her friends as one of the greatest things about the human world. “Go!”

“No!” shouted Hagrid as the two of them sprinted to the front of their boat. Sweetie was really getting used to having half as many legs as normal, and made an energetic jump toward the nearby dock where Percival was patiently waiting. Despite the rubber soles of the fantastic shoes, she did not quite get as airborned as she wanted, and Sparrow likewise slipped on her last step and pinwheeled into the lake with an impressive splash. Wycliffe, however…

During the trip here, the small boy had followed along while Sweetie had toured the train, remaining almost silent during all of the introductions and hand-shaking. At first, it had seemed a natural effect of being in Sparrow’s energetic shadow. Then Sweetie had caught the way some of the younger students cringed away when they were introduced, and short glimpses of restrained anger in the eyes of the older ones. It was far too much like Sweetie Belle’s visit to the Crystal Empire, and the feeling that something angry and vengeful was lurking in the shadows. She had tried so hard to get the other students to accept him on the train, but a tragic event like the loss of a family member or sibling could not be fixed with a few hugs, no matter how much she squeezed.

Which was why she had climbed onto another one of the boats after she had been pushed overboard, in the hopes that she could shake the sense of doom and gloom that had begun to drape over their small class of first-year students as they approached the castle. She just had not realized how easily the boats overturned, or how the other students would join in.

All except for Wycliffe, who had remained dry and sitting on the sternest end of their boat.

Or at least until Hagrid’s frantic grab landed the huge human on the very front of the boat, which went abruptly down.

The other end went up.

So did Wycliffe.

All across the lake, students stopped what they were doing—except the ones swimming—and watched the small boy’s ballistic path in the direction of the dock. He almost made it.

Percival should not have been standing that close to the water’s edge, but at least he had a towel.

* * *

The Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry should be a distinguished individual who the students looked up to, always ready to assist with whatever student questions or problems that might arise, from trolls in the dungeons to vampires in the owlery, all the way down to an endless number of young girls who just needed another older witch to listen while they wailed about the unfairness of boys.

There was something about seeing the First Years all splashing around in the lake that brought a degree of youthful mischief back to Minerva McGonagall. No sooner had she slipped into the back of the Great Hall and hung the new Portrait on a conveniently empty spot than she padded back down the stairs on silent cat feet in order to watch. It was justified spying, or so she told herself, because she had never seen Percy Weasely in charge of anything without looking entirely like a humorless pratt.

And when she saw Wycliffe Nott airborne, arms and legs flailing all the way until he hit the water with an impressive splash that doused Percy from head to toe, the dripping Head of House for Gryffindor looked entirely like he was about to be a pratt of inordinate size.

But only for a moment.

In that moment, the young boy that Miranda could not help but see matured, as if he could somehow see himself in the face of the struggling child paddling in his direction, as well as the faces of a thousand years of students. It was a young man who laughed loud enough to be heard across the lake while reaching down to pull Wycliffe out of the water.

“Five points to whatever House you wind up sorted into,” announced a dripping Percy, “for being the first student to make landfall after your—”

There were at least a half-dozen charms for maintaining your footing on slippery terrain, and Miranda could not help but wonder if Percy had intentionally not cast any of them just so he could join the fun by sliding down the boat ramp. There was a double-splash and Percy resurfaced with a laugh.

“Alright, you. Up the ramp and get dried off. And the rest of you out in the lake, stop playing with the squid and let’s get ready for the sorting. There’s a lot to do tonight, and you can go swimming later, once school is properly started. Come on, hustle up there. You too, Hagrid.”

Between the two of them, with Hagrid to hoist students up onto the dock and Percy handing out brightly colored towels, the small class of First Year students was soon gathered together in rough and dripping array. There were still far too few of them for Minerva’s comfort, and far too many nervous looks, as if they expected Lord Voldemort to leap out at them from around the corner.

But they were here. A mere seventeen children from all of Britain, gathered in the same way a thousand years of their ancestors… No, sixteen British children and one unicorn from another dimension, which most certainly had never happened before.

They are exceedingly brave young creatures. Perhaps this year will be more calming than recent years.

* * *

In order to calm her hammering heartbeat, Sweetie Belle was taking solace in the familiar. Threadcount, for one. Tapestries did not usually have too terribly fine threads, because that made them more fragile over time, while thick threads made for a much more difficult media to portray a subject. These threads were a nice compromise, and packed in tight enough to support each other while still maintaining their vibrant hues. From the dusty smell with little musty odor, they were also quite old, although she could not concentrate on a unicorn spell to determine their actual age. Also, and quite thankfully, there were no spiders lurking in the upper reaches of the tapestry, observing her trembling with glittering dark eyes from crevices made by the thick supporting rod or wire hangers.

It was also quite a distance up from the stone staircase, which she tried not to think about.

“Professor, is that a… unicorn?” asked one of the students below. “On top of the tapestry, that is.”

“I didn’t know they could climb,” said another.

“I don’t think she knew about the ghosts,” said Wycliffe.

“Quite a unique circumstance,” said a deeper voice from beneath Sweetie that made her tremble and hang onto her precarious position even harder. “I don’t believe we’ve ever had a unicorn at the school before. Mister Weasley—”

“Professor Weasley,” said Percival. “And please come down from there, Sir Nicholas. You will frighten Miss Belle again.”

Sweetie managed to pry open an eye to look down, and saw an extraordinary number of eyes looking up, including the translucent human who had so frightened her in the first place. He was floating, which still frightened her, but more importantly he was dressed far more formally than the rest of the wizards and witches she had seen so far. There was even a neck-ruff in his outfit, which Mayor Mare only wore on the most formal of occasions. Since none of the other students appeared to be worried about his ghostly appearance even in the least, Sweetie could feel her panic begin to subside, being replaced by a terrible sense of embarrassment at being such a scaredy-pony over such an important… whatever it was.

“I’m sorry!” she squeaked.

The students looking up gave a collective ‘Daww!’

Percival hesitated, then looked down at the floor and thumped his chest with a clenched fist.

Sir Nicholas politely cringed, much like whenever Rarity saw something made out of plaid cloth.

Sparrow, however, laughed as she launched into a rapid-fire stream of words.

“Uncle Rudah told me all about the ghosts here,” she said. “Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, meet Sweetie Belle. He’s the Gryffindor ghost, and most famous of all the ghosts in Hogwarts, and I’m sure you’ll get along once school starts and you get used to him. Somebody help grab the bottom of this tapestry so Sweetie can slide down. Wycliffe?”

“Oh, do be careful with that!” said the ghost. “It’s older than I am, and has survived—”

The firm tug that Sparrow gave the bottom of the tapestry disrupted Sweetie’s attempt to switch back into human form, and also knocked loose her grip on the tapestry rod. The following rapid scramble of unfamiliar human limbs during the descent left her on the floor unhurt except for her pride.

“Are you okay, Wycliffe?” Sweetie scrambled to her bare feet and looked the small boy over for blood or tree sap. “Thanks for catching me.”

“...” replied Wycliffe, still holding his middle where most of Sweetie had landed.

None of them noticed a chuckling tabby cat vanishing around the corner on her way to the Great Hall.

* * *

According to Hogwarts: A History, the Great Hall was supposed to be… well, great, but Sweetie Belle was starting to wonder. She had been taken to all of the fashionable places in Equestria by her sister, and seen places that could be measured by the ton of gemstones or thousands of sparkles. Hogwarts was a considerable shift from what she was used to admiring.

It was more practical, she supposed, since it appeared designed for defense instead of just to look pretty and glittery like Twilight Sparkle’s castle. Twilight certainly did not have a squid, or a lake to have a squid in, which was probably good because Fluttershy would make it a pet. And there was something about castles where something new always showed up when you went looking, so the upcoming year promised a lot of exploring.

But right now, she was stuck in a small, windowless corridor outside of the unseen-yet Great Hall, listening to Percival Weasley.

“Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” said Percivial. “I know you’re all looking forward to the start-of-term banquet in the Great Hall, but first you will need to be sorted into your Houses. There are four of them, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each of the Houses has produced exemplary witches and wizards over the years, and they have their own special appeal for the students sorted into them. Your House will be like your family while you are at Hogwarts. You will have classes together, sleep in the same dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while misbehaving and rulebreaking will lose points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points will earn the House Cup, which is a great honor to all of the students. Um, yes?”

Sparrow stopped waving her arm frantically and bounced on her toes. “When do we start learning magic?”

“Tomorrow,” said Percival with a chuckle. “You sound just like—” The tall human stopped for a moment, looked intently at Sparrow, then Sweetie, then down at Wycliffe. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Anyway, we would normally divide classes between Houses, but since there are so few of you this year, your entire year will probably be kept together in each class. Your Head of House will be responsible for handing out schedules after the feast… Oh, that’s me, if you happen to be sorted into Gryffindor. Well, the Sorting ceremony will start shortly once all the professors are situated, so we might as well be prepared. Everybody check your robes to see that they’re as straight as possible, make sure you don’t have any pond weeds in your hair, and yes, Mister Nott?”

“Beg pardon, sir.” Wycliffe swallowed. “If you’re a professor too, shouldn’t you be up front with the rest of the staff?”

“Oh.” Percival blinked. “Well, I think… That is… I’ll be right back.”

The door opened and closed so fast that Sweetie could not get a glimpse of the Great Hall beyond, but Sparrow was right behind him and reaching for the doorknob when Wycliffe grabbed onto her arm.

“We’re not supposed to go out until we’re told,” he hissed. “We’ll get into trouble in front of all the other students!”

“Obviously not a Gryffindor,” murmured a fairly well-padded young girl who had slipped up beside Sweetie Belle and put one hand on her arm. “We didn’t get enough time together on the train. I’m Agatha Volant. Presumably, you’ll be sorted into Slytherin, and we’ll be sharing a room.”

“Unless she’s sorted into Hufflepuff,” said a young girl that Sweetie remembered as Lady, due to her delicate features and polite mannerisms. “Really, it’s a little early to be courting favors, Agatha. The Sorting Hat doesn’t make deals. It sorts, that’s all.”

Whatever Agatha was going to snap in response was lost as Percival scurried back into the hallway and straightened his pointed hat. “I can’t be up front with the rest of the professors and escorting you all in at the same time,” he explained rather breathlessly with a brief discouraging glance at Wycliffe. “Now, come along, stay together, and let’s see you Sorted.”

As the vast doors swung open, Sweetie braced herself for the unexpected, although she really should have been more prepared. After all, she had been to so many famous places in Equestria with her friends and Rarity, and even sang in front of an audience that once. She could not help but think of Twilight Sparkle at her school test managing to blow the roof off the testing hall and hatching Spike.

The Great Hall was filled with young humans her age and up, all dressed in the same robes and looking in her direction. Or on a second and more determined look, half-filled, with extra spaces between seats, and one of the four sections that had more green ties than the rest looking nearly abandoned. Of all of the young humans, they looked very much like they needed friends the most, because the students at that table were keeping suspicious eyes on each other rather than looking at the incoming children.

As her classmates walked forward, Wycliffe moved around in the group so he could stand in Sparrow’s taller shadow, and shifted positions with every step. It seemed a rather odd thing for him to do, particularly since it blocked his view of the Slytherin table.

Then she looked up.

It was the most awesome dining room ever, not counting Princess Cadence’s main hall when the sun was in the afternoon sky and everypony had to wear sunglasses to keep their vision. This was a beautiful contrast between gloom and glory, dark shadows and flaming braziers, floating candles far above countering the star-strewn night sky, heavy oak beams stretched out with muscular tree-limbs to hold up arched stone so old she felt as if she were inside a mountain and under the open sky both at once. This was an example of the kinds of magic she could learn at this school, and the room was full of brand-new humans to make friends with. There were a whole bunch of old humans at the front of the room who could teach her all kinds of things! She could feel the song bubbling up inside her, just ready to burst out all across the Great Hall.

Sparrow kept one hand firmly over her mouth, so she restrained her urge.

* * *

‘Patients’ was a word in Sweetie’s vocabulary that had gotten used quite often. ‘Patience’ not so much. Words and notes bubbled up under her skin, itching to be used, but she held herself back even when Sparrow bounced up to the front of the hall on her turn to be Sorted, leaving only three students standing there.

The Sorting Hat was a fascinating magical bit of clothing, which Hogwarts: A History had spent very little time explaining. Neither Starswirl the Bearded or Princess Celestia had mentioned anything about it when Sweetie had met them in Ponyville after her selection for this trip, but the hat was a thousand years old, and Starswirl’s visit to the area was a thousand years ago, so there was always a chance it would remember something about the cantankerous old codger.

Or better, it would say something about him, because the old hat could sing.

Sweetie had been so stunned when the Sorting Hat began to sing that she forgot to join in. All she could do was stand there with her jaw hanging open as a seam on the front of the hat opened up and it began to enthusiastically belt out a confusing song about how proud it was to see more students filling the halls. Admittedly, it was a little flat and not quite singing at the speed it should, but after a thousand years, it was understandable. She even hummed along under both Sparrow and Wycliffe’s hands while the Hat sang about all the students it had seen graduate, and their children returning to uphold generations of their family traditions.

Wycliffe had trembled at that, but his hand remained over her mouth.

Now she found herself holding Wycliffe’s hand while watching Headmistress McGonnagal place the patched hat on Sparrow’s head, or at least tried because the excitement was too much for the tall girl and she kept bouncing on the chair.

“Gryffindor!” proclaimed the hat before it even touched her head. Sparrow gave an excited squeal, jumped forward, tipped over the chair, and pitched face-first into the students at the Hufflepuff table, who thankfully managed to catch her. She gave them all a big hug, then dropped down on an open bench, only to jump back up and scurry over to the Gryffindor table to the laughter of most of the room.

Headmistress McGonnagal appeared to be having a coughing fit, which slowed down the rest of the Sortings enough for Sweetie to take another look around at how things were going so far..

‘Volant, Agatha’ had gone over to the Slytherin table just like she had predicted, while ‘Rose, Hildegarde’ was sorted into Hufflepuff where she was received with a great deal of hand-shaking and smiles. ‘Carnarvon, Evelyn’ was the next girl to leave their shrinking group, and she strode boldly to the chair where Headmaster McGonnagal was holding onto the strange patched hat.

There did not seem to be any order to the students being sorted, but Sweetie was starting to feel a little alone with a teensy fear of being the last one remaining when all the names had been read. She got a good grip on Wycliffe’s cold and sweaty hand, which both reassured her and made her a bit worried for him in her stead. He was far from the most nervous student so far, or at least he was hiding it better than ‘Wyvern, Jill’ who had looked very much as if she were going to throw up into the hat before putting it on. She had taken nearly five minutes of quiet conversation with the hat before it had declared ‘Ravenclaw’ with the smallest amount of reluctance.

“Sweetie Belle,” announced Headmistress McGonnagal, and Sweetie found herself walking forward with a small push from behind by Wycliffe. “Sit down, please,” said McGonnagal once she came nearer. “As you are now,” the old woman added when Sweetie began to take off her hat and shoes. “I don’t think the horn would fit,” she whispered.

There actually was one small patch on the Sorting Hat that could have easily been where a unicorn horn once was, but it had been sewn up since then and Sweetie could understand not wanting to put a hole in such an old garment. She straightened her back as McGonnagal held the hat over her head, then took an involuntary breath when the hat dropped nearly all the way over her head to her chin.

“My word,” came a voice inside her head almost immediately. “Another unicorn here at Hogwarts? Why I haven’t seen your kind here since the old days. Oh, and I see here that you have met the old geezer. How is Starswirl in your world?”

“Just fine, sir.” Sweetie almost put a hand to her head in order to adjust the way it was pressing against her nose, but it was probably supposed to be that way so she left it alone. “He and Princess Celestia talked for days before letting me come here. I think he may visit sometime later when he has time, but he’s very busy at Twilight’s school.”

“The old goat as a teacher,” chuckled the voice to itself. “Now I’ve seen everything. If he does stop by, tell the Headmaster that he needs to talk with me for a while. Catch up on old times and things. Celestia too. Now, let’s get down to business. There’s a whole bunch of hungry students out there and we need to get you Sorted before they can eat.”

“It won’t hurt, will it?” asked Sweetie as a faint feathery touch started to wander around between her ears. “I mean it didn’t look like it hurt for the other students but I’m a unicorn and—”

“Done,” said the hat. “With all the trouble you and your friends got into, it’s obvious that—”

“Wait!” Sweetie swallowed a lump of nervousness. “My friend is next, and I want to be sure you put him in a House where he’ll have lots of friends. His name is Wycliffe Nott, and he only had his father and brother when he was growing up.”

“Ahh, the Notts.” The hat breathed a sigh. “His entire family has been in Slytherin, back until they took the name. They’ll welcome him as one of their own, I’m certain.”

“But will he? I mean his father was a Death Eater and committed horrible crimes. He even k-killed people, some in this school. He’s not going to be accepted by children who are trying to show they aren’t like his father. Everybody in that House will make a specific point out of shunning him in public.”

The hat seemed to be considering things for a moment. “You know, you are a very perceptive young unicorn. Are you certain you don’t want to be in Ravenclaw?”

“Not really,” admitted Sweetie reluctantly. “Princess Twilight was all tied up in her books and spells until she made friends. Now they all travel the country, making new friends and solving problems. I really don’t do well studying, but I love to meet new ponies… I mean people now, just like her.”

“I’ve never put a student in a House where they don’t belong,” said the hat firmly. “Sometimes it has taken a year or two for them to realize it, but I’ve never been wrong. Sorting is a very difficult task, because I can’t just put a student where they’re most comfortable. Frequently, I need to put students into Houses that are the best for them in the long run, not what they are today. Young Mister Nott will be fine. I shall choose… wisely.”

“Promise?” asked Sweetie.

“Always,” said the hat. “And now… Gryffindor!”

She was so overcome with happiness that Sweetie ran straight into the Hufflepuff table, much like Sparrow, and only realized what was going to come next when she looked up and saw Wycliffe standing terribly alone while Headmistress McGonagall called out his name.

“Nott, Wycliffe.”

The small boy looked even smaller as he approached the Headmistress with steps that shortened as he drew near, fumbling as he took his pointed cap off and tucked it into his robe pocket. McGonagall turned him around — perhaps a little abruptly since she was most probably as hungry as Sweetie — then placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

There was a very long silence, broken only by tiny whispers at each table from impatient students.

It was plain that Wycliffe was talking with the hat much like Sweetie because his lips moved, but the discussion went on for a very long time with more than a few students sneaking a peek at their watches. The only two new students who had been Sorted into Slythern were sitting next to each other, whispering to each other while keeping a sharp eye on Wycliffe so they were probably making plans about what was going to happen when he joined their table.

But he did not. Wycliffe remained in the chair, obviously having some sort of growing argument with the hat.

“What’s going on?” whispered Sparrow at Sweetie’s elbow, at a volume that was very appropriate to her nature and gained a stern look from Headmistress McGonagall. She was not the only student to whisper to their colleagues, and once the piercing green eyes flickered away to catch another noisy student, Sweetie Belle whispered back, much quieter.

“The Sorting Hat thought Wycliffe would fit best into the Slytherin House since that was what his whole family went into. I don’t think he likes the idea. I don’t either.”

“Oh,” said Sparrow, much quieter this time. She checked her watch, gave it a shake, then looked back up at the front of the room where Wycliffe was still sitting. “He’s going to be a Hatstall, I’ll bet.”

“What’s a Hatstall?” The other girl who had been Sorted into the Gryffindor house was a slightly puffy human with a short black mane cut almost like Twilight Sparkle, straight across with no accomodation for human flat ears or their lack of a horn. ‘Byng, Kim’ seemed friendly enough, with a ready smile for Sparrow and Sweetie, but that smile faltered every time she glanced at the front of the room where Wycliffe was being Sorted.

“I saw it in Hogwarts: A History when we were flipping through it back at Miss Selkirk’s place,” said Sparrow. “Several of the students over the years took more than five minutes to be Sorted. They tend to become teachers much later,” she added with a frown of deep thought.

Time stretched on. The other new Gryffindor introduced himself as Chuffy and tried to keep Sweetie from worrying too much about what Wycliffe was going through. “My uncle was Hufflepuff. Said all the loony people went Gryffindor and all the mean ones went to Slythern, and I must be crazier than mean, so here I am.”

“Wycliffe isn’t mean,” whispered Sweetie back.

“He won’t even step on a bug,” added Sparrow. “But he does like pineapple on pizza. That’s weird.”

“Shh!” admonished one of the older students. “Something’s happening.”

The ‘something’ in this case was Wycliffe wordlessly sprinting for the back of the room with the Sorting Hat falling behind him.

14. Home Sweet Dormitory

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Home Sweet Dormitory

Deep beneath the Crystal Empire, in hidden places where nocreature dared to travel, the darkness moved. Bereft of the spells that had held it imprisoned and secure for so long, small flecks and drips of shadow flowed along channels familiar to the darkness, some blocked by the pestersome ponies, while other paths had burned and decayed beyond use. There was no intelligence in their motion individually, but as they combined in small clumps and dark pools like tar…

“I don’t like it,” muttered Theodore Nott, trying to pin down two sets of notes written in the scratchy script of griffons. He finally dropped an empty potion bottle on one to keep the page flat while digging out the supposed same notes from one of the unicorn cursebreakers. Whatever translation spell that had been on the portal was an absolute godsend to his task of finding whatever bits of dark magic remained in the Crystal Empire, but it did not make the chicken-scratches of the griffons or the swoopy cursive of the unicorns less of a headache to compare. Still, he had insisted on an early start to his project, so there was only one wizard in the room to blame for his throbbing temples and no coffee to deal with it.

“Leaf, I want you to read these to me. There’s something I’m not seeing.”

The timid green unicorn took the sheets of parchment in his magic and read down through them, moving his lips as he went. He nodded at times, seeming to agree with whatever words he was seeing at the moment, and looked back and forth to compare as he went. Eventually, he put all three sheets down on the table and scowled at them, much like Theodore had been doing for the last few minutes. “You’re right. There’s something in there. They didn’t see it, so we can’t see it from their observations.”

“You didn’t read them out loud,” said Theodore.

“Oh. Sorry.” The unicorn picked the sheets up in his magic and read through them again, still silent. This time Theodore could feel a slight chill travel up his spine, the light touch of dark magic seeking a target that it could not identify. It felt strange compared to his experience with wizard magic, and several silent spells only confirmed the faint threads of power woven into the parchment that the unicorn was holding in his unicorn magic. Undoubtedly there was some sort of curse being powered by the unicorn magic of the holder, and the realization that it had affected him despite his different wizard magic gave a twist to his guts that had nothing to do with the strange foods he had eaten for breakfast.

“There,” said New Leaf as he put the parchments back down on the table. “Still nothing.”

“I am so glad you’re helping me,” said Theodore as he scribbled on a small scrap of parchment, eventually attaching it to the notes with a bit of adhesive gum instead of a spell of any type. A brief wave of his wand confirmed that only those particular sheets of parchment had the tricky touch of something dark on it, which at least was something positive to his morning activities. Theodore placed the parchments at the far end of the table by hand, then looked around the room. “I would have thought Granite Peaks would be back by now. Any idea what he is doing?”

“Cleaning up a few of the minor half-done sites out in the city,” said Leaf as he picked up another sheaf of notes with his magic. “Shouldn’t be dangerous and he’ll be done in a few days, or at least that’s what he said. Why?”

“Because the problem is going to be more difficult than he said.” Theodore waved his wand at a nearby city map with colored pins making a strange pattern in shades of puce and lime-green. Specks of orange light crept between pins, mirroring whatever Theodore suspected was happening out in the sparkling city. “The pattern changed again. I wonder if these curses or whatever you ponies call them also change by the phase of the moon or time of day.”

“That’s bad,” said Leaf. “We could clear out an area only to have it be dangerous again an hour later.”

“It’s worse,” said Theodore. “The changes change, like they’re trying to hide. The only bright spot is Sombra had a spell to deal with any of the curses that tried to attack him instead of whatever they’re supposed to be doing.”

“Nemusul?” Leaf dug through a stack of parchment and emerged with an Equestrian spell. “I’m not going to try it,” he stated firmly.

“I should be able to adapt it to a wand.” Theodore gave the parchment a long look, taking a few guesses on the direction of magic flow and deciding a test would wait for later. “Should, that is. If so, you’re next. Between the two of us, we should be able to stop even an active curse.”

“Should.” Leaf fixed him with a rather insecure look, much like a quidditch keeper with only one hand on the broom and a long drop below.

“I’m starting to get an inkling of why I’m here.” Theodore picked up another set of notes and sat back in his chair. “Perspective. You’re seeing what you expect to see. I’m new to your world, so my expectations are different.”

“That’s good. I suppose.” New Leaf scratched his chin and picked up a different stack of reports with his magic, then unexpectedly asked, “Do you suppose the Equestrian in your world is getting along well? I mean away from everything she’s grown accustomed to.”

It took a little time for Theodore to consider just how large a step a young unicorn would be taking to go into a school like Hogwarts unaware of its history or social barriers. “There have been other, non-humans who attended the school and got along just fine. Professor Flitwick for example, not only attended but is now one of the finest Charms instructors in our world, despite being part goblin. And there were some Beauxbatons students several years ago who were part vela, but just as skilled as any witch or wizard in our school.”

It was difficult to admit, but at least there were no pureblood wizards around to hear. Claiming the supreme power of pureblooded wizardry was to carefully ignore several quite contrary examples, a process far easier to do in a group of one's peers. And there had been a quite disturbing rumor going around about the Dark Lord’s own father, who might have been a muggle of no particular bloodline or importance in history. Smart wizards ignored such rumors if they wanted to live. Even though the Dark Lord was dead and a dimension away, Theodore still found it difficult to voice his opinion.

“You’re worried about your brother in the school, aren’t you?” Once New Leaf determined that Theodore was not about to say anything in response, he continued, “I wish I had a sibling to be worried about. I’ve been alone for so long that I’ve forgotten what it was like to have anypony else who cares.”

“I care,” said Theodore quickly. “My brother is in the safest place he could possibly be.”

“Do you think he’ll find friends, too?” New Leaf had a particularly wistful look on his equine face that Theodore could not quite place, although his confidence in the Equestrian value of friendship was sorely misplaced.

“As the son of a Death Eater, he won’t find any friends in Hogwarts. He’ll be safe, and that’s all I can hope for.”

* * *

The Great Hall was momentarily silent except for the rapid footsteps of their smallest student as he fled the Sorting Hat as fast as he could run. In the wizarding world, there were very few incidents without precedent⁽*⁾ but running away from a Sorting at Hogwarts was certainly quite rare.
(*) The only other event of this type was in 1247 when Abacrombie Cornelius Burke was the first student to be Sorted and therefore the first student to find a spider that had made the hat its home for most of the previous year. Rules were established every year since to ensure the incident would not be repeated, mostly by Headmaster Burke several decades later.
—

“For a shrimp, he’s darned fast.” Sparrow sprinted from the Gryffindor bench in pursuit of Wycliffe, calling out over her shoulder in a loud voice to be heard over the growing hubbub of alarmed students and teachers, “Go ahead and start dinner. We’ll catch up.”

Sweetie was right behind, awkward in her clumsy human shoes and unpracticed limbs, but she knew stopping to change would only put her further behind so she made the best of her two-legged speed. Most of the students she passed remained seated at their tables out of shock, but several dressed with gold and red ties had gotten to their feet to follow, only to be held back by other older students.

Wycliffe had already vanished out of the big wooden doors at the back of the Great Hall without even pausing, but Sparrow was quick as a wink and was through the doors before they swung back. Behind her, she could hear Headmistress McGonnagal calling out for order, but it was always easier to get forgiveness than permission when friendship problems like this cropped up, so Sweetie sped up as fast as she could run. She hit the doors with a solid thump, but when she emerged into the antechamber with all the tapestries around her, there was no sign of her small friend running down the stairs in front of her.

Until she looked up.

“I think he made it further up than you got,” said Sparrow in a most unhelpful fashion.

Wycliffe did not respond, and from Sweetie’s recent experience, he was probably concentrating enough on gravity that he should not be disturbed. He was further up the old tapestry than Sweetie had managed. All she could see of Wycliffe was one foot that stuck out of the shadows enough to expose the smooth surface of his shoe’s sole and the small hole that seemed to be developing in the middle.

The tapestry waved a little with his struggle to keep from falling, making the pastoral scene of woven students out on some sort of hilltop look like they were experiencing an earthquake, or perhaps some sort of bizarre dance. Several of the tapestry subjects were hanging onto cloth trees or bushes to keep from falling down to the bottom of the cloth where several of their peers were piled up, and two of the upper characters seemed to be unicorns. Still, it was not important right now. She had a whole year to explore the castle with her friends… Well, as soon as they got Wycliffe down and Sorted into Gryffindor so he could run around with them.

“Did the hat want you to be sorted into Slytherin?” asked Sparrow in an upward direction. It really was the question Sweetie wanted to ask and was holding back because she dreaded the answer. The old hat had been very stubborn in a way that really reminded Sweetie of Starswirl and his perpetual grumpiness, but Wycliffe must have been even more stubborn, or perhaps his fear had contributed to his young willpower.

“Yes,” sounded a very small voice in return. “I’d like to go home now.”

“You need to go to school so you can control your magic,” said Sparrow just as quick as she could make the words. “My uncle avoided the point like a bath whenever I asked him, but I saw this thing in History of Magic about what happens if you don’t. Not sure what it’s called because I didn’t turn the page there and I was just skimming, but it sounded bad. Really bad.”

“I’d become an Obscurus,” said Wycliffe. “I can get a tutor to prevent it. Maybe.”

Sweetie wanted to ask what an Obscurus was, but the answer was in a book and Wycliffe didn’t sound like he wanted to dwell on the possibility, so she decided to look it up later and be supportive instead. “The Hat said it never was wrong about where it Sorted students, but maybe it really doesn’t matter where you wind up as long as you do. Like Apple Bloom said about tree seeds. It don’t matter where they get put in the field long as they’s put,” she added in her best imitation of her friend’s voice.

“I’m not going into Slytherin. I’ll die before I go there.”

A low groan from behind Sweetie made her freeze in place. The open chamber was lit by two large pots of fire on opposite walls, but a faint silver glow began to throw shadows against the wall, many shadows that danced in the darkness and brought an arctic chill down the back of Sweetie Belle’s neck. The ghost who stepped into her vision first was most certainly not the friendly but still frightening Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. He was taller and gaunt, with a massive curly wig but covered from head to feet in ghostly chains that dripped silver, much like the endless drops of spectral blood oozing from his bloody fingertips. He groaned again, sounding like a huge rusty door and clanked his chains as he moved beneath Wycliffe’s trembling tapestry.

“Baron!” chastised another ghost, a fat fellow with a large bald spot on top of his head that only left a fringe of silver hair around the outside edge. “The child does not need admonished for his actions. He has not even been sorted into your House yet.”

Sweetie was not particularly keen on having a ghost in the vicinity, double-particularly the terrifying gaunt spectre dripping ghostly blood on the floor. Having one in Gryffindor… Then again, the rather polite Sir Nicholas had been introduced with that association, and other students had lived just fine with ghosts around school for centuries, so she should be able to enjoy the experience also.

Of course, it would have been far easier to enjoy if there had not been so many ghosts sweeping into the entryway, fading in through the walls and ceilings until practically every standing and floating space was occupied, some twice. Sweetie was still getting used to humans in large numbers, so to have that many dead humans surrounding her was really pushing all of her panic buttons. Thankfully, they did not seem angry, but more confused and concerned, which allowed Sweetie enough self-control to actually breathe instead of jumping up to the tapestry to huddle with Wycliffe.

“What’s going on?” hissed Sparrow under her breath as she edged her way closer to Sweetie. “I didn’t skim through the whole book, so did I miss something?”

“Terribly sorry, young ladies.” The fat ghost gave a cautioning look at the rest of the ghosts, who faded back a few steps to give them some breathing space. “Mister Nott has disturbed the castle residents in an unusual way. Most of them have never seen a Sorting go wrong in this fashion.”

Skipping over the question that ‘most’ really needed, Sweetie gathered her courage and tried her best to smile. That required her to really look at all of the ghosts surrounding her, and an encouraging realization soaked through her fear. “You were all students at one time,” she said. “You were Sorted too, and were just as afraid when the Hat decided which House you belonged in. Well, maybe not quite as afraid,” she corrected when Sparrow snickered under her breath. “You were right where we are now, entering into a new experience with new friends. Isn’t that right?

The proud expressions on their faces struck a chord in her heart, although she kept the music within because this did not seem like a good time. The fat ghost merely nodded with a smile. “Nearly all of us went through Sorting,” said the fat ghost. “The Baron is from a time before the school existed, and there are a few more from distant lands or earlier eras,” he added with a glance at an older lady-ghost who shimmered with a faint green glow across her full dress and antique fashion accessories.

With a sniff, Wycliffe rearranged himself so he could peek out of the shadows above the tapestry. “I’m afraid,” he managed.

“You are here to learn,” said Sir Nicholas, who floated forward next to the fat ghost. “In Gryffindor, you will learn to fight your fears.”

“Use them to gain power,” rasped the bloody Baron.

“Our house learns to accept our fears with the help of others,” said the fat ghost with a rather discouraging glance at the Baron.

“or find out what lies beneath their false guise so they lose their power over you,” whispered the green lady.

“See!” declared Sweetie. “No matter where you’re Sorted, you don’t have anything to be afraid of. And we’ll still be your friends.”

“Yeah,” said Sparrow, who looked as if she was only vaguely following the conversation and more like she was counting ghosts.

“Besides, did the hat say he was going to put you into Slytherin?” asked Sweetie. “Or did he just say that was what he saw as the best choice? Because he knows you don’t want to be in their House because you’ll be picked on by the older students—”

The blood-covered Baron seemed particularly incensed at that admission and gnashed his ghostly teeth with a fierce glower, as if any student in his House who dared to unleash their ire on a younger child was not going to appreciate what they got in return. It startled Sweetie enough that her train of thought was derailed, but Sparrow had bounced back from her initial fear of ghosts and promptly took that train down an entirely different set of tracks.

“Anybody picks on you, we’ll beat ‘em up,” said Sparrow, smacking one fist into another.

The ghosts looked universally shocked. “You are going to be respectable young witches and wizards,” exclaimed one with a gasp. “Physical violence is totally unacceptable.”

Sparrow looked pointedly at the bloody knife sticking out of the Baron’s chest, then at several other obvious ghostly weapons sticking out of various spectral vital organs and heads all around them.

“Allow me,” said Sir Nicholas, pushing his way forward and looking upwards, which let Sweetie see a long silvery gash that cut all the way across his neck and had been hidden by his ornate ruff until that moment. “Our existence here is both a positive and a negative example for the students, and you should be aware of the difference by the time you graduate. Why I’ve seen dozens of your ancestors pass through these hallways, and they’ve all emerged the better for it. Well, except for your grandfather, who was abysmal at potions. He has kept us informed of your progress at home, and I rather think he would be severely disappointed if you were to return so soon without seizing the opportunity to learn as much as you can about a subject which he knew so little.”

There was an exceedingly long period of silence, broken only by the quiet clinking of the Baron’s immaterial chains. Remaining quiet seemed to be the right thing to do in order to convince Wycliffe to come down. She could see the trembling of the tapestry begin to subside and Sparrow likewise started to settle down and look like she was thinking about her next words before she said them.

There was still some commotion coming from the Great Hall and Sweetie really expected one of the teachers to come bustling in at any minute, but perhaps they did not want to disturb the ghosts either. After all, several of the ghosts around them were only partially inside the room, which meant anybody from the Great Hall who came to disturb them would have to pass through one or more ghosts to open the doors. Sweetie did not even want to think about how that would feel.

“That hat didn’t seem too scary to me,” Sparrow admitted to Sweetie under her breath.

“It’s really old,” said Sweetie, pointing up. “It asked about Starswirl the Bearded. That’s him up there on the tapestry, right under Wycliffe’s foot. Princess Celestia said they contributed to the school’s founding together.”

Wycliffe’s curiosity momentarily overcame his fear and he peered over the edge at the wooley unicorn and his pale green assistant a few inches below his vantage point where they both were clinging to a moth-eaten tree and looking upset. The boy looked for a time with the cloth image of Starswirl looking back, then shook his head. “Maybe I’m just not ready for school yet.”

“My dear boy!” exclaimed Sir Nicholas. “You received a letter, therefore you are ready. The school has never made a mistake in that regard.”

“Maybe I’m the first,” offered Wycliffe in a very small voice that competed with a faint sound of tearing cloth. “Uh-oh.”

Sweetie kicked off her shoes and shifted into her more shock-absorbant form. “Let go, quick!” she called upward. “I know that sound. I’ll catch you! Oomph!”

Wycliffe would have made a good Crusader, because he had excellent reactions. He dropped off the tapestry hanger almost immediately after Sweetie had called out, and managed to land on her back instead of her horn before the two of them went spilling out across the floor and rolling up against Sparrow, who promptly fell down also. It was just like being home again, only without tree sap.

“I thought you were going to catch him,” Sparrow said while standing up and offering a hand to Wycliffe.

“I did.” Sweetie managed to roll over, changing forms in the process, and began to look for her shoes. Wycliffe helped, fishing one out from under a thin lady-ghost while Sparrow retrieved the one that had fallen down several steps on the staircase. Rather than put her shoes on right away, Sweetie nuzzled up to Wycliffe’s face, which seemed to be quite a shock to the young boy. She really did not know very many human ways to express reassurance, but it seemed to help slow down his panicked breathing.

“I know it can be frightening to face something new,” she said once she was done nuzzling and resisted an urge to lick his ear as perhaps a bit too Equestrian. “That’s why we have friends to help us.”

“But I don’t want to go into Slytherin,” said Wycliffe weakly. “I’d die. I know it.”

The Baron spoke again, something that seemed to cause the ghost great pain. “No student has ever died because they’ve been placed in my house. Some of the greatest wizards in the world have proudly worn our colors.”

The fat ghost added, “All of the Houses in Hogwarts are protected places where we guard—”

Wycliffe interrupted sharply. “Last year, Voldemort himself killed students and teachers in this protected place. My father killed people here. Why would you care about protecting me? I’d be better off in my family House, guarded by our house elves. Nobody wants me here.”

“I do,” said Sweetie. “You’re my friend, Wycliffe.”

“Mine too,” said Sparrow, pausing just a moment before admitting, “I don’t have many friends. I think I intimidate ‘em.”

“Really?” said Wycliffe flatly.

“See!” Sparrow rubbed the top of Wycliffe’s head, making his carefully combed hair stand on end. “You talk back. Everybody else just ignores me or treats me like a jerk.”

“You are a jerk,” said Wycliffe, although he paused a moment also before adding, “At times.”

“So?” Sparrow brushed some of his hair back down into a more respectable appearance. “You’re an unbelievably stuck-up twit at times, acting like you’re the only one who was hurt by Voldemort. Do you think running away from your problems and hiding in your big empty house is going to solve anything?”

“Friends help each other fix all kinds of problems,” said Sweetie. Twilight Sparkle her friends had taught her that lesson, and the words just flowed out of her heart as she continued, “I came here to make new friends, so what kind of friend would I be to let you run away?”

The green lady ghost at least seemed proud of Sweetie, and so was the fat ghost. Wycliffe seemed less than convinced, but Sweetie Belle could remember when Twilight Sparkle first came to town and gave every indication she was going to vanish into the library and never come out. If a hopelessly introverted bookworm like Twilight could blossom with new friends and new wings, a small and rather nearsighted human like Wycliffe could also. Well, without the wings.

“It’s only a hat, I suppose,” muttered Wycliffe into the stone floor of the entryway.

“And I don’t think they’ll let anybody eat until you’re done because I haven’t heard anybody start up yet,” said Sparrow. She took Wycliffe’s pointy hat from the pale green lady ghost and brushed off some dust before putting it back on his head, where it promptly dropped down nearly over his thick square glasses.

* * *

The second walk down the center aisle of the quiet Great Hall was far slower and much more tense without all the rest of the First Year students around them for support. Sparrow and Sweetie each took one side of the trembling boy, moving in short steps to stay even with him as the students they passed watched. There had to be something, anything Sweetie could do to calm his nerves, so she whispered as she walked, putting her whole heart into the words.

You’re okay. You’re alright. We will stay beside you.

From each of the tables as they passed, she heard a near echo from several voices, rising up through the silence of the Great Hall like bell chimes.

I was there. Where you are. You’re going to do alright here.

Then several more voices from all around the hall joined together, deeper voices from the older students mixing with the younger in a blend of perfect harmony, growing louder and louder with each word.

Such small steps. Into our school. A world of magic awaits you.

Sweetie could feel the emotion rising as she lifted her voice together with the other students, the resonant voices of the Frog Choir, the happy clusters of Gobstones players, and rising even higher, she could hear Ginny Weasely and the rest of the Quidditch team captains in four-part harmony fairly burst into the lead.

It was impossible to stand still with the song whirling and spinning all around them. Students danced around in circles, holding hands regardless of their House colors. Somewhere, several of the Quiddich team members had gotten broomsticks and were throwing a big red ball across the vast open area of the Great Hall vaulted ceiling while other students seemed to be replicating Wycliffe’s launch through the air by propping benches up and jumping on them.

In an eyeblink, Sweetie felt more at home than ever. This place needed her. The students, the teachers, and even the castle. She danced through the music with Sparrow and a reluctant Wycliffe, feeling the towering emotion of friendship and joy grow with the song until it fairly filled the Great Hall to bursting. There was a brief moment where the song threatened to drop into a minor key but Sweetie put her magic against the change and pushed the way Pinkie had taught her, overjoyed at the way the whole hall swirled even more energetically around them with Wycliffe in the middle.

Then the Sorting Hat was caught up in the whirl of music along with Wycliffe, dropping onto his head as the entire school held hands to dance and sing. The small boy was the center of the vortex, the focus of the song, and every student and teacher exalted in the life he would start here among his fellow wizards, even the old man with the broom who danced as if he were very rusty and probably needed more practice.

There was so much magic around Sweetie now that she could taste it, like the greatest cake and ice cream party ever, or an enormous storm of happiness and joy that flung her around in perfect circles. The music rose to a powerful crescendo, every human in perfect harmony as Wycliffe rose higher and higher on the shoulders of his fellow students until he reached the peak of the Great Hall’s ceiling timbers and the Sorting Hat called out in a voice like a thunderclap.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

* * *

It was not the end, of course. They still had to get all the students down off the tables and the one or two stuck in the rafters. Even the old man with the broom had to be picked off the ceiling beams by a student on a broomstick because it did not look like he could fly by himself. The aura of gloom and tense nerves had vanished totally, and several of the older students even hit Wycliffe on the back with their hands and told him how frightened they had been during Sorting. It was a happy buzz that continued all the way through the meal when food magically appeared on the tables and the students dug in with an intensity that had Sweetie remembering her own pony friends and their rather intense table manners.

The food was quite heavy in meat dishes, which Sweetie mostly avoided because of their unpleasant parallels, but the chicken drumsticks were every bit as delicious as the chicken at Miss Selkirk’s boarding house. Then there was no end of cake, cookies, pies with strange contents, fluttering pastries that had to be caught before they flew away, and candied fruit that was actually on fire. It was going to take a lot of running to work off these calories, much like Rarity always complained about every bite of Pinkie Pie’s cooking, although her sister kept biting.

Before dinner was all the way done, Sweetie was comfortably round and fairly immobile like the rest of the students. That did not keep them all from chattering away about the upcoming school year and constantly asking Sweetie if there were going to be any more songs and if so could they be given a little notice, please.

Even Wycliffe ate well, to the point where he looked a bit disappointed when all the dirty dishes vanished and Headmistress McGonagall took her place behind a wonderful podium that looked like an owl, even with wings that spread out to hold her notes.

“Your attention, please. As you can tell already from our memorable Sorting, this year at Hogwarts promises to be anything but ordinary.” There was continuing laughter among the students, a joyous change from the sense of tension that filled the Great Hall such a short time ago, and Headmistress McGonagall let the laughter and giggles go on beyond what Sweetie expected for such a serious and intense human.

“Settle down, please. You have a lot of studying to do over the next year, some of you more than others. Several students are repeating their Seventh Years because of the disruption caused by—” her lips noticeably thinned “—several poor professors who are no longer welcome here, nor are their teaching methods. With these changes, schedules may need to be modified mid-term as needed to accommodate a proper educational experience, and I am certain you will all contribute to a successful year.”

The weight of her years seemed to press down upon the old human for a moment, mostly hidden by her stern expression and rigid stance, but Sweetie could see the tiny creases at the corners of her eyes as they flickered to empty seats among the gathered students.

“Hogwarts will go on despite the tragedy of last year,” she continued in a controlled voice with only a hint of tremor. “Miss Pomfrey has approved several medwitches from St. Mungos to bolster her staff, and any student who feels the need to speak with them about anything at all is encouraged to do so. There is no shame in seeking out comfort in times of stress and depression. In fact, I will be dropping by the hospital wing on occasion, and I will be most disappointed if nobody is there to keep me company. Our loved ones will always live on in our memories, and it is our responsibility to live our lives in a way that would make them proud. With that in mind, after the end of the year exams we will be having a school memorial for those who we have lost.”

A brief darkness seemed to sweep through the Great Hall, but not the bad kind. It was as if every student was thinking of a friend or relative who had been involved in the last battle against Voldemort, a darkness of remembrance for good times that would never be again, and a determination to keep it from ever happening again.

It was a sensation that Sweetie had never really experienced before. Nopony close to her had passed away, although Granny Smith had her bad days at times, and Apple Bloom had confided that she did not really know what she was going to do when the old mare finally faded away. The thought took the sharp edge off her energetic enthusiasm, although she was still overjoyed to be in this new school with so many new friends. Headmistress McGonagall continued to speak about important school things but Sweetie could not concentrate on listening. She had never really thought about death, and being at a place where death had happened so recently brought it home. The Hogwarts ghosts only made the metaphorical fear into metaphysical reality, but even they were friends to the students in ways that Sweetie could not comprehend.

They were difficult thoughts to think when the Headmistress quit speaking and all the students gathered together before their Heads of House. Percival led the Gryffindors while McGonagall was otherwise occupied with important human things. All the students lined up for the walk to their dormitories, First Years in front and Seventh Years in back because they most likely would not wander off during the trip.

It let Sweetie get a good look at the rest of her class with the rest of the students in Hogwarts spread out among the Great Hall, which was a little discouraging. Seventeen First Year students out of all of the country, and only four other young humans in her House. The brief glimpse she had gotten of London made her expect far more students, and if this was an example of how few wizards there were compared to ordinary humans, it was no wonder they kept to themselves instead of vanishing into the millions of their less-magical people.

She almost did not notice the rest of the amazing castle as they marched along, four other young First Years in a neat line before the rest of her House’s students, all filled with joy and chatter. It was a new beginning, a school so much different from Twilight Sparkle’s School of Friendship and far more exciting than Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. New magic among new friends, picked from every other young unicorn in Equestria to help. It was a staggering responsibility which she had to carry with half as many legs, but she had so many new friends to help carry the load.

That invigorated her steps, which was a good thing because they reached a staircase which stretched upward with many of its friends, some of which were changing positions as she watched. The walls were covered in moving paintings, humans posing for portraits, wildlife galavanting around in nature, two old humans hunched over a chessboard, and a flash of darkness in one of the busy paintings that Sweetie could have sworn she had seen before.

“Please be careful of the stairs,” announced Percival. “They like to move around on you. Now pay attention. This is the entrance to our House dormitory and the common room that joins both the girls and the boys wings, and is only accessible by way of a password. Remember this, and don’t share with students from other Houses. Acta non verba.”

The fat lady in the painting peered down at the tall young human, giving him a discouraging squint. “Are you certain, Mister Weasley? I didn’t know you had returned to the school.”

“That’s Associate Head of House Weasley,” said Percival with a quick touch to his pointed hat to make sure it had not shifted position. “Now please open the portal.”

There was a clanking noise and a skinny older knight dressed in ornate armor came running into the painting. “One moment, My Lady. I have word from the Headmistress. Percy Weasly is the new Hogwarts Associate Head of House, and should be given all the courtesies of his position.” The painted knight turned and gave Percival a deep bow. “Sir, we stand ready to defend your House and students as always. It is an honor to serve.”

“The honor is all mine, Sir Cadogan.” Percival returned the bow even lower. “And a heavy responsibility, trying to keep all these rascals out of trouble for a whole year. I’ll accept any help I can get.”

“Very well, sir.” The knight moved to one side and seemed about to ask the fat woman to open whatever portal they were guarding when he paused and looked down at Wycliffe. “A Nott? Here? Boy, are you certain you are not in the wrong House? Every wizard and witch in your family, all the way back to my time—”

“Were in Slytherin,” finished Wycliffe. “I know.”

“We know,” said Sweetie, putting one hand around the trembling boy’s shoulders. “It’s a big change, but sometimes we need really big changes in our life. Like Miss Selkirk picking up her wand again, or Percival becoming our househead.” Sweetie let out a gasp, which seemed to spread excitement in the rest of the students like growing wildfire. “We should take a picture, like we always did for our newspaper articles back home and everypony… I mean everywizard can send a copy of the picture to their parents to put up on the icebox!”

One small hand raised up in the crowd of cheering Gryffindor students. “I’ve got my brother’s camera in my luggage.”

“I can do the developing and the copy spell,” said another older student through the noise.

“Let’s do this!” called out Ginevra. The huge painting swung open, revealing a richly decorated huge room beyond while she stood off to one side and motioned the rest of the students inside. Percival had to scoot over beside her to avoid being trampled, and Wycliffe obviously wanted to ask a question, so she stuck right with him.

“Percival… I mean Associate Head of House…”

“That’s you, brother.” Ginevra elbowed Percival solidly, which seemed to bring him back to awareness.

“Oh! Yes, Mister Nott?” Percival looked down and forced a smile.

“I was just wondering if you told your mother about your position yet.”

“Well, actually…” Percival blinked several times. “Uh…”

“That normally means ‘no’ in more words,” said Sweetie Belle, getting a good grip on Wycliffe’s elbow and pulling him along with her into the chaotic Gryffindor common room. “Come on. We’ll get the picture and send it to his mother along with a letter telling her all about our first day here. It’s going to be so great!”

That left the newest Associate Head of Gryffindor House standing alone out in the hallway blinking furiously like an owl exposed to unexpected sunlight. “Oh, bother. I never told mum. She’s going to go sparse when she gets the letter, I just know it.”

He did not notice the ghostly shade of a pale green lady watching from a distant corridor as he eventually managed to stagger into the Gryffindor common room and close the portal door.

15. Bump in the Night

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Bump in the Night

Hogwarts never slept. Being made of stone and wood, that went without saying. The students in the building slept, of course, and most of the paintings with witch or wizard subjects had a fair chance of them being slumbering even during the day. That meant when the portrait of the Fat Lady creaked ever so slightly open and trainer-clad foot extended to prod around in the darkness for the stone staircase landing, nobody should have been able to see it.

“Good evening, Miss Lilley. Watch that first step.”

Sparrow stumbled and nearly fell, landing on her knees with her knapsack dropping beside her with a thud. “Percy?” she asked the darkness.

“Associate Head of House Weasley,” said Percival. “And I didn’t think you of all the students would be sneaking out at night to run away from school.”

A faint light illuminated the broad stairway landing as Percy lit his wand, looking down at the slender First Year with a slow shake of his head. “No excuses, please. And the other two of you, come out also.”

Sweetie and Wycliffe slipped out behind Sparrow, both looking embarrassed in their own particular way. Sweetie Belle was only wearing one of Sparrow's oversized shirts with a garish British flag embossed on it, while Wycliffe had a full billowing blue nightshirt and green knit hat, leaving only his face and slippers exposed to the night air.

“Any others back there?” asked Percival.

All three of them shook their heads, although Sparrow frowned fiercely. “Wait a minute. Do students run away from wizard school all the time?”

“Only the first night,” said Percival. “Dumbledore used to give them all the most fascinating lecture and a lemon drop before sending them back to bed. Nobody ever spoke about it afterward.”

“A lemon drop?” said Wycliffe with a yawn. “How do you know?”

“That’s beside the point.” Percival firmly closed the painting door and motioned the three of them to follow him and his illuminated wand. “There will probably be other students at the Headmistress’ office, so let’s move along and we can get you back in bed before you know it.”

The stone floor of the castle was chilly on Sweetie’s bare human feet and she was tempted to turn back into a unicorn except she would make an awful clatter in the silent hallways they were hustling down. Sparrow did not seem to mind making noise and trudged along with her trainers slapping against the floor until her pace turned back into her normal brisk stride.

“I didn’t see you following me,” said Sparrow, “but how did Wycliffe get here from the boy’s wing of the dormitory?”

“Something woke me up,” said Wycliffe. “I thought it was a house elf, but it poked me in the side until I came out from under the covers and then I noticed the room’s door was open.”

“House elves are not permitted in student’s rooms while they are present,” said Percival.

“Then who woke me up, Professor Weasley?”

“That is beside the point, Mister Nott. When we return to your dormitory room, we can see if Mister Chuffnell was pulling some sort of prank on you.”

Wycliffe opened his mouth as if to argue the point, but closed it rather quickly and remained quiet until they arrived at a spiral staircase ascending up into a shadowy room full of wonders. Sweetie was instantly entranced because so many of the silvery devices and bubbling pots full of colorful liquids looked very much like much of Twilight Sparkle’s laboratory, which she was forbidden to enter. That did not mean Sweetie had not peeked in once or twice, but those brief glances could not hold a cupcake to this magnificent seven-layer cake with frosting of a room.

Wood was definitely the theme, polished to a fine glow and sweeping around the room in great abundance where it framed crystalline panels protecting fascinating objects or supported shelves filled with whistling and spinning devices. Wood framed dozens of portraits of old wizards and witches all around them, most of which had their owners snoozing quietly in their chairs except for one that looked more recent than the rest, which just had an old wooden rocking chair and no human in it. There was even wood underfoot, buffed to a fine finish and warm on her toes after the stone floors of the castle, and curved around steps up and up and up to shelves and niches containing so many books that Twilight Sparkle would have immediately gone into a reading coma and been unable to be distracted for days.

At the far end of the room there was a wooden perch where a slumbering bird who looked much like Philomena was dozing, but the most important feature of the wonderful office was a majestic wooden desk covered in drawers and shelves that just cried out to be explored. Around it, comfortable wooden and padded armchairs were strewn around in abundance, one of which was big enough even for Hagrid the castle magical creatures teacher, although five straight-backed plain wooden chairs in front of the desk seemed to be their inevitable destination.

“Ahem,” called out Headmistress McGonagall from behind the desk. “Miss Belle, if you could please come here with the rest of your friends. We will begin in a few moments when our last errant student arrives.

Francis Helpenstell was sitting rather forlornly on one of the chairs spread out in front of the fascinating desk, his short brown hair lying flat against his head and a look of dread that not only covered his entire face but slopped over to everything else. Even his shoulders were bent into a slumping posture and his hands drawn up into his lap with his fingers intertwined, holding onto a small golden bit of metal. He obviously was not dressed to be in the Headmaster’s office since his golden and black tie was tied up in a messy knot with various bits and pieces of it sticking out in all directions, much like he had tied it in the pitch darkness. His large feet sticking out from under the school robe were likewise unprepared for the trip, since they were bundled up in a pair of red socks but with no shoes.

“Francis—” started Sweetie Belle, but Headmistress McGonagall cut her off with a sharp glance and a few short words.

“Please remain quiet, Miss Belle. Every one of you will get your chance to speak, and I’d prefer not to have anybody repeat what could be a painful confession.”

That was all well and good in the long term, but Francis seemed to be hurting so much that Sweetie could not just sit there and let him suffer in silence. She reached out one human hand and poked him on the side of his hind leg, continuing until he reached over to chase her sharp finger away. Then she captured his fingers in her own hand and just sat there.

At first, Francis made a token effort to reclaim his hand, but when Sweetie tightened her grip, he stopped tugging and just allowed his hand to be held. He did release her hand like it was red-hot when Evelyn Carnarvon came silently into the huge office, being escorted by a pretty young witch with flyaway hair suspended around her head like fog.

It took a moment for Sweetie to remember the older girl’s name was Luna since she looked nothing at all like an alicorn, but she could remember the sparkling cardboard glasses perfectly well. When she returned to Ponyville for the Hearth’s Warming break, she fully intended on bringing several pairs back for her friends, and at least one for Pinkie Pie.

“That should just about do it,” said Headmistress Mcgonagall with a sideways glance at a nearby portrait of a rather chubby lady with pink cheeks and a considerable amount of unruly mane which was tucked up into a kerchief. The lady in the painting nodded and scurried out of the frame, returning in a few moments with a second nod.

“They’re all sleeping, Headmistress,” she said.

“Very good, Dilys.” McGonagall turned and regarded the five students sitting in front of the desk on their hard wooden chairs, then her features softened. “I really didn’t expect so many of you would try to run away from Hogwarts,” she admitted.

“Sweetie and Wy didn’t try to run off,” said Sparrow rapidly. “They followed me. You can probably send them back—”

“One moment, young lady.” McGonagall fixed Sparrow with a firm look, much the same as Princess Celestia would focus on Twilight Sparkle when she was getting ahead of herself. “I generally do not permit other people to speak when I am talking, particularly students. When you become Headmistress, you can determine the punishment for breaking school rules.”

Wycliffe made a subdued snorting noise, which Headmistress McGonagall ignored.

“Five out of seventeen First Year students out of bed after hours,” she said, “and three from my House. That’s far above average.”

Francis jerked like he had been poked with a pin and looked up from where he had been closely examining the floor. “Average? This has happened before.”

“Every year we have a few,” said McGonagall. “Over the years, some of the students have later reached high office, all the way up to other Headmasters and Prime Ministers, so it is not a great disqualifier for your future. In fact, House points have never been taken for this offense.”

Sparrow let out her breath rather loudly, and Wycliffe poked her in the side while the Headmistress continued.

“I’ll be bringing you all by my office later in the week for a long talk, but for now, I would like to hear a brief explanation of why you were out of bed tonight, starting with you, Miss Carnarvon.”

“Me?” Evelyn jerked upright in the chair, making her long silky mane sway in enticing waves. Her crystal blue eyes darted around the room as if seeking some human to interrupt, but she eventually just looked up at the Headmistress with a nervous swallow. “I just… I had to get away. I wasn’t thinking. There wasn’t anything specific. I was afraid, so I just had to run.”

Headmistress McGonagall nodded. “A perfectly normal sensation for being in a new place with such a dangerous recent history. Be assured that you are safer here than practically anywhere else in the wizarding world. Miss Lovegood will escort you back to your rooms and see you settled back in with a brief lecture about the security of the school. There will not be any negative consequences for your action tonight. Any future violations of the school rules will be treated normally. Do you understand?”

Evelyn nodded briefly and resumed looking down at the floor, although not looking quite so sad. Sweetie made up her mind to see if she could be enticed into a new manestyle later. Her sister always said a few hours spent in a salon were never wasted.

“Mister Helpenstell,” continued the Headmistress. “Your turn.”

Francis unclasped his hands and looked up. “No excuse, ma’am.”

Raising one eyebrow, Headmistress McGonagall fixed the chunky young human with a solemn look. “You sound very much like our fathers, despite the differences in their denominations. Oh, yes. My father was a minister also.”

“A preacher’s kid?” blurted out Francis with wide eyes.

“Not the most comfortable place in the world to be found,” admitted the Headmistress. “One would expect a place in Hogwarts would be a comforting calm in a world of religious turmoil. Well, relatively.”

“It is.” Francis nodded vigorously, although slowing in short order. “It’s just… I really don’t know why I was leaving. I just got up and left. I didn’t even put on my shoes,” he added, looking down at his stockinged feet.

Headmistress McGonagall made a very peculiar and subtle motion that Sweetie just barely managed to catch. Her eyes flicked to Wycliffe and back again while her expression remained perfectly unchanged, much like when some of the older ponies were considering the guilt of her Ponyville friends without saying anything out loud.

Sparrow looked about to say something when Wycliffe jabbed her in the ribs again, resulting in a brief but silent glare in return.

“Shoes do appear to be optional in this year’s escape attempts,” said McGonagall, deliberately looking down at Sweetie Belle’s bare toes. “Still, we can’t take a chance on you catching cold from your late-night walk and you’re looking a bit flushed, so your Head Boy will escort you to the hospital wing to spend the night. It will do Madame Pomfrey good to have a simple case of the chills to start off the year. Which brings us to—”

“Me,” said Sparrow, although she covered her mouth immediately afterward.

“You’re at least dressed for the evening,” said McGonagall, seeming not to be bothered by the interruption at all. Her sharp blue eyes examined Sparrow from her tight-laced trainers to the leather jacket with the fur collar, then lingered on her knapsack. “Packed for a trip, I presume?”

“I really don’t belong here,” said Sparrow rapidly. “I mean this is a magic school for magic kids and I’m just a weirdo who never made any real friends and I don’t even know anything about magic other than in games so although I know I’ve gotta be trained to keep from becoming an obscurus thing, I thought maybe one of my uncles could just tutor me instead.”

Headmistress McGonagall did not say anything, which turned out to be the best way to keep Sparrow talking.

“So I took the books I didn’t read yet,” continued Sparrow a bit slower and less frantic, “except for potions which just sounded weird and stuffed them into Sweetie’s knapsack since I couldn’t find mine and brought my phone so I could call my parents once I got out of the weird magic stuff here that keeps it from working. I figured they could call one of my uncles and he could come get me and that’s about it.”

“Practical,” said McGonagall with a short nod. “How did you plan on finding your way?”

“Well, duh!” Sparrow scowled slightly. “The other students all took carriages here from the train station, which would have been more practical than bringing us in by boat even if it wouldn’t have been as much fun. All I had to do was follow that road back to the train station. There was a map of town on the wall there…”

Sweetie was almost immediately lost with the way that Sparrow described which streets she would have taken on her way to the main road out of town, with a detailed list of how many turns and intersections needed to be navigated. When she ended with a display of her flashlight and how it was supposed to work outside of the magical environment of the castle, Sweetie had to admit to herself that the plan was certainly worked out in far greater detail than any one of the Cutie Mark Crusader’s so-called plans. Even Twilight Sparkle would have approved, although probably taken points off her score for a lack of checklists and of course the fact that her attempt to escape failed before it really started.

Headmistress McGonagall was not impressed, at least on the surface. She turned to Sweetie Belle and merely raised one eyebrow.

“I followed her,” said Sweetie. “She’s not very quiet and kept tripping over things in the dark. I thought she was just sneaking out for a snack or something. And Wycliffe was woke up by somepony and he followed me.”

“Mister Nott can speak for himself,” said McGonagall, although she obviously looked at Wycliffe’s slippers, then Sweetie’s bare toes again.

“I was taught to mind my own business,” said Wycliffe just a bit under his breath. “Then the first thing I do in Hogwarts is get sorted into a House that my father hated, and then I follow something that woke me up when I was just getting to sleep. Not a very auspicious first day at Hogwarts.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve seen worse,” said Headmistress McGonagall. “At least you had the presence of mind to put on slippers. As for what woke you up…’

A portrait next to the Headmistress boiled with darkness and a familiar form of an ebon alicorn appeared in the dramatic way that Princess Luna preferred, although there was a much smaller alicorn held in its mouth the same way a mother cat would hold a kitten.

“This evening has been filled with surprises,” said the Headmistress. “It seems that the Portraiture Charm that your elder brother used to capture a fragment of Princess Luna’s essence captured two of them.”

“That’s the Tantabus,” blurted out Sweetie. “I recognize it from the night when it went a little crazy and tried to escape. It’s a little part of Princess Luna that she separated to act as a guardian, or at least that’s what Twilight Sparkle said. But I don’t remember the little one.”

“Nightmare Moon, or at least what is left of her,” said the Headmistress, frowning severely at the tiny alicorn, who quit struggling to escape so she could give a plaintive begging look instead. “We had the most fascinating quiet discussion. It appears Equestrians are not restricted by the Portraiture Charm in the same fashion as wizards and witches.”

“She can stay at the Ravenclaw House,” piped up the young witch who had been escorting Evelyn. “We could have a sleepover.”

“Miss Lovegood, please restrain yourself.” McGonagall made a subtle gesture at the painting and the two shadowy alicorns vanished behind the frame, although Sweetie could see them pass through several other paintings on their way out of the office at a gallop with the smaller alicorn looking terribly disappointed.

“Do try not to encourage the portraits,” said the Headmistress to nopony in particular. “It is time for students to return to their beds, having the benefit of your first lesson before classes start. Everybody please follow your Head Boy or Girl and see about getting a good night sleep. Miss Lovegood, no detours. Professor Weasely, you are to return here after seeing the students back to their dormitories. And Miss Lilley, leave the knapsack.”

Sparrow was caught bending over and looked up with her hand grasping one strap.

“You have no further need of it this evening, and we will see it returned in good time,” said McGonnagal. “Now, off to your beds. Hurry up. It is quite late and you have a busy day ahead of you.”

As the sun touched the horizon on the way to darkness, Theodore Nott could not help but realize how much being in a city this large disturbed him. After all, he had lived his entire life next to a bog, in a nature sanctuary where wizards and witches were forbidden, and spent his summers helping keep poachers away from what little snidget habitat was left. The preserve had no end of interesting plants and creatures tucked into every corner and hollow, leaving him plenty of time at home to explore while avoiding the other Wardens.

Wizards who voluntarily stayed around a bog were not the most social creatures. Even his own family kept to themselves. Ponies, however…

The excuse Theodore wanted to use was that after spending all day in the crystal castle studying so many pages of the previous cursebreakers’ reports, he just needed to get out for some air. In truth, his skin was beginning to crawl, and getting out onto the darkening streets at a brisk walk was not really helping.

The ponies were by nature a quiet and friendly sort, like an entire city of Hufflepuffs engaged in a perpetual smiling contest. That would not have been bad in itself, but beneath that happy exterior, in the cracks and crevices of their lives, lurked a deep darkness. Every unexpected clatter of a dropped object, each shadow that fell over them, and the smiling pleasant pony turned into a terrified rabbit hiding from an attacking hawk. Oh, they apologized, of course. Rumors of his presence had turned the citizens into his biggest cheering section, ten thousand rabbits eager to see somebody else face the invisible rabid bear. If he had given in to his natural tendencies, Theodore could have strolled through the daytime marketplace like a conqueror, snacking from every food booth and filling his pockets with any trinkets that caught his eye.

As night fell and the shutters closed, the city was a far different place. If he had any doubts about King Sombra when the sun was shining and the city twinkled under its light….

Shadows moved when he glanced away, with every rustle of breezes in the crystalline bushes and faint creak of shifting stone underfoot. The inherent magic of the city swallowed up all the sensory charms and detecting spells he cast as if they never existed, leaving Theodore to meander among the lumpy stone buildings like some sort of stray cat searching for a mouse. Only in this case, the mouse had fangs. Nearly all of the noises could be dismissed as natural or products of his own imagination…

Until Theodore heard the distinctive click of hooves on stone behind him.

The city streets were not his comfortable bog of home, and had far fewer places to hide for both stalker and stalkee. Long hours of practice and just a touch of luck allowed Theodore to work his way behind his unseen follower, take a few moments to adjust his approach, then reach out with his wand to touch the cloaked pony.

“Don’t move,” he whispered.

The pony promptly collapsed into a trembling heap. “Don’t kill me!” whispered New Leaf, shaking like his namesake and looking remarkably pale in the faint starlight.

After a moment to look around for perhaps a competent assassin, Theodore crouched down and tried not to tremble himself with the release of nervous tension. “Leaf,” he chastised, “what are you doing outside tonight?”

“I’m sorry!” hissed Leaf through his clenched teeth that did not impede his ability to rattle onward at top speed. “I saw you slip away and I was worried and I thought you might get caught in one of Sombra’s traps so I followed you and when we got out into the city I was too afraid to go back and I didn’t want to say anything because you might get angry with me or kill me and hide the body and then you vanished in the alley here and I thought I’d have to find my way back in the dark and I’m sorry!” he finished in a near wail that was cut off when Theodore put his hand over the unicorn’s cold lips. There was not much of a chance that his fellow cursebreaker was putting on an act unless he was exceedingly talented, and from the smell, willing to pee on himself in the process. Worse, Leaf continued to shudder and shake on the cold crystal flagstones of the alley until Theodore considered he might be having some sort of fit.

“Please,” gasped the shaking unicorn, “don’t leave me.”

To be honest, Theodore had considered it. New Leaf was a weak link in his employment chain, but he was just about the only link, and… was just so pathetic. The unicorn was not even trying to hold onto Theodore’s leg, or looking up at him with begging eyes. Still, it was a novel feeling to have some creature afraid for Theodore, so afraid that he was willing to plunge into a city that he was starkly terrified about. Slytherins were trained not to stick their necks out unless it was for some clever plan, but the possibility of New Leaf using this as some sort of ploy to gain sympathy was infinitesimal.

“So much a Hufflepuff. Just a moment.” Using one hand was awkward, but he needed to keep a hand on New Leaf’s cold lips while retrieving a potion from the collection on his belt. “Here. Drink it. No, don’t dribble. Yes, right down.”

The trembling stopped immediately, New Leaf’s eyes opened wide, and steam began to drift up from his ears. Pepper-Up potions at least seemed to work on the Equestrians the same as wizards, and Theodore made a mental note to see if his assistant would like to try some of the others in his collection, just for scientific curiosity, of course.

“Whaaaaat…” New Leaf sucked in a breath through his mouth, which set him coughing, most likely from the wintergreen flavoring. “What was that?”

“Something to give you a little pick-me-up. Which you needed. Badly.” Theodore braced himself and began to lift Leaf’s head which caused the unicorn to scramble to his hooves, still dripping around the hindquarters. “Feeling better?”

“Some.” Leaf’s eyes flitted from shadow to shadow. “Still terrified. Can we go back? Now?”

“Might as well,” admitted Theodore. He nudged New Leaf in the direction of the alley entrance, although he drew his wand again and held it against the outside of his trouser leg on the other side. “I didn’t find what I was looking for, anyway.”

That did not calm down the panicked unicorn one bit, and he leaned against Theodore like he was a life-vest salesman on a sinking ship, nudging him forward as they walked. “W-w-what were you looking for?”

“I’m not sure.” Giving another look around while they proceeded, slower than Leaf wanted but still at a fair walk, Theodore considered the shadows around them. With companionship, even the terrified unicorn, the city seemed less dangerous and more filled with opportunity for an enterprising young wizard. There were answers out there, and finding them was going to take hard work. He just needed to ask the right questions. “I thought Sombra’s influence would be stronger at night, I guess, and I was seeing if I could… I’m not sure.”

“Humans are crazy.” Leaf pulled a little away from his pressure against Theodore’s leg, but still close enough to touch. “You were looking for him? What would you have done if you f-found him?”

“Used every noisy spell I could until the Crystal Guard showed up,” admitted Theodore. “Shining Armor seemed to think they were able to take on about anything.”

The renewed pressure of a worried unicorn pressing against his leg while they walked proved silent witness to the lack of confidence that New Leaf felt about the guards. It did not necessarily make Theodore feel any better about their security either. “Did you tell the guards you were leaving tonight?” he asked once the warmth of the castle was close enough.

“Not really,” hedged Leaf.

“That means no. To be fair, I didn’t either.” Theodore observed the distant guards with a thoughtful frown. They were arranged in pairs by the various doors into the glittering structure, but he did not see any kind of enthusiasm on their part for investigating strange noises in the night or taking leisurely strolls through the darkness like Theodore’s small group. “Security should be tighter for anybody trying to sneak into the castle. Hmm…”

“You’re not…?” Leaf looked up, then at the castle, then back up with a little less tension in his expression. “I don’t think they’re really trying to guard against… him.”

“There still are other creatures out here in the darkness that could pose a threat to the Royal Family,” argued Theodore quietly. “Or us. As loyal employees, we should at least test their security for flaws. After all, I really don’t want to be killed in my sleep.”

“I don’t want to be killed,” said Leaf firmly. “I don’t want to be killed trying to break into the castle either.”

“Then we’ll just have to be careful.” Theodore stretched and gave his wand a cautionary flick. “It’ll be just like all the stories I told Wycliffe about sneaking out of Hogwarts, only without Filch’s blasted cat.”

The Headmaster’s office in Hogwarts had seen many strange meetings in the middle of the night. This was one of them. For a change, it even included a happy cat.

The cat’s owner was not happy. McGonagall had never really seen Argus Filch happy, but this was a degree of not-happy that could normally only be found with the Weasley twins and a case of ignited fireworks. Mrs. Noris was ignoring him and happy indeed. It was a most unusual occurrence to see the unpleasant cat curled up and purring, something that McGonagall had believed to be possible in theory but had never seen it in practice.

“Sorry it took so long,” said Percy as he came bursting into the office front door. “Sweetie Belle had a number of questions and…”

He slowed as the eyes of the Hogwarts professors all looked up from their inspection of the black knapsack sitting innocuously in the center of the Headmistress’ woven rug. There was only one chair remaining between Sybill Trelawney and Professor Sinistra, so Percy quietly walked around the bulk of Hagrid and settled into his obvious place without any more words. Since there was little else for him to do, he looked around the circle of professors, all of whom appeared to have been pulled from their beds by the number of curlers and bathrobes in attendance, then back at the knapsack with the purring cat on top of it. If he had been any one of the other Weasley brothers, McGonagall would have expected some sort of pithy comment, but working at the Ministry of Magic must have suppressed some of those family traits.

“Observations?” she asked.

“I want my cat back,” said Filch in a near-growl.

“In good time, Argus. Now, the rest of you?” asked McGonnagal.

“Absolutely fascinating,” said Professor Flitwick, who was leaning so far forward he was about to fall off his chair. “Extremely subtle.”

“Still don’t see nuttin’ other’n the obvious,” said Hagrid, who had both hands around his pink umbrella and resting on it like a cane. He seemed to have aged a decade in the last year, at least on the outside, but his deep voice was as powerful as always and his glittering dark eyes never left the knapsack.

“It’s an omen, if you ask me,” declared Trelawney, who was squinting in the general direction of the purring noise without looking directly at it. She took a sip of her tea and placed a saucer on the chair’s armrest, quite obviously intent on reading the leaves once she was done drinking. “Weal or woe, that’s the question.”

“Questions we are not getting answers to at the moment. Professor Slughorn, if you please.” She accepted the small crystal vial and stepped forward to hold it over the knapsack. “Mrs Norris, please move.”

It is the nature of cats to ignore the commands of humans, but McGonnagal had enough cat in her for the furry menace to rise slowly to her paws and pad silently over to Filch, who picked her up and tucked her under one arm.

Ever so carefully, McGonnagal dripped three drops of a clear liquid over the knapsack, then passed the vial back to Slughorn without comment. She stepped back, raised her wand, and stopped when Flitwick hopped off his chair.

“Headmistress!” he squeaked. “If it is what you think, the standard counterspell could be dangerous. Allow me, please.”

“You are the expert at charms.” McGonagal nodded and stepped back, although she held her wand at the ready like the rest of the professors. “Proceed with caution.”

“Dangerous?” asked Percy with a quick sideways glance at the rest of the wand-wielding professors, although Flitwick was already bouncing on his toes and readying his own wand.

“Hippomorphus!” he exclaimed with a complicated gesture of his wand, and the knapsack abruptly was not a knapsack any more.

Instead, there was a rather odd pony-sized insect standing in the middle of the circle of professors, regarding them without a blink of his oversized teal eyes. At first glance, it could have been mistaken for a small black unicorn with a bad case of mange, or at least by Professor Trelawney, but Hagrid took in a sharp breath of air and his eyes lit up with joy.

The distraction gave McGonagall an opportunity to take a second look at the insectile intruder and the way it differed from the magical creatures she had encountered over the years. The small bughorse was a blackish-grey with a short horn and several holes in various limbs, making it appear somewhat like a lacewing insect that had been dunked into a pot of ink. There were no obvious signs of organic weaponry, but that did not mean very much when dealing with unknown magical creatures, although the look of shock on its insectile/equine face was unmistakable.

The creature glanced from one side to another in short, jerky motions that did not seem to bother any of the wand-holding wizards and witches, then it turned a nervous gaze on the Headmistress.

“Parley?” it buzzed.

16. Cold Start

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Cold Start

“You have to admit it was a good idea.”

Theodore’s conversational partner did not respond.

“We learned firsthand about King Sombra’s traps in a way we never would have by just reviewing all of Granite Peaks’ notes. And we have all kinds of information to add to our list of what not to do.”

That earned Theodore a brief glare before New Leaf put his head down on the floor and turned his back on the young wizard, rotating by degrees of hoof-shuffling.

A faint clattering noise sounded from up the staircase, growing louder until Granite Peaks and an unexpected visitor came through the stone doorway. Granite’s grey coat looked rumpled as if he had not gotten a chance to brush this morning, but Shining Armor was perfectly coiffed and dressed for the day down to the last bit of golden armor and shining hoof-boots.

There was a period of relative silence with Theodore scribing away on a piece of parchment and the two unicorns just standing there, looking at the iron cage and its unusual contents. Shining Armor walked once around their prison, inspecting the bars by the light of the shadowed room, before returning to Granite Peaks’ side and resuming his quiet observation.

“Nott,” said Granite finally. “What are you doing in there?”

“Taking notes of the magic used to create this…” Theodore gestured with his quill at the mesh of iron bars all around him.

“Trap,” continued Granite. “I lose my entire crew to a trap, have Celestia send to a whole different world for a better trapbreaker, and the first thing you do is fall right into another trap.”

“It was a short fall.” He pointed at the ceiling where hinged panels showed their path from last night. “We were staying out of the way of your guard patrols right up until the floor fell out from under us and we wound up here. Oh, and the bars closed up above us.”

It said something positive about both of the unicorns and their experiences in the Crystal Empire that they kept their horns as dark as New Leaf. After all, King Sombra’s traps had a particular affinity for unicorns, probably due to their instinctive need to use magic to ‘fix’ things that had just gone wrong, much like a wizarding student who had just reached legal age tended to grab their wand for any and everything imaginable.

Granite Peaks was as much of a professional cursebreaker as anything else in this world, and Shining Armor… Well, Theodore had not really seen into his character more than a brief glance, so he did not trust him any more than a Slytherin could trust. He probably trusted New Leaf most of every creature he had met in this strange and glittering land, mostly because they had established a great need for each other’s skills: Theodore for protection, and New Leaf for information.

“I’ve been running tests on it most of the evening,” admitted Theodore. “Had to drop by the room and pick up supplies. There’s a six-fold collection of spells involved in the trap that I think he was keeping in reserve for a special sneaky surprise. He never had problems with thieves, did he?”

“Never.” Shining Armor’s lips were drawn into thin lines and he continued to eye the iron bars with a great deal of judicious suspicion, then looked at Theodore again, and in particular the thick clump of parchment he was writing on. “You went back to your room?”

“Unicorn teleportation and wizard apportation are quite different. I was a little worried at first, but there’s always a risk when expanding our knowledge of new things.”

It had been tempting to just apportate out of the trap and leave New Leaf to his fate, but this had been an opportunity to learn yet another facet of this Crystal Empire’s potential. Some of the other unicorn spells had been quite close to wizard’s magic and could be modified with little effort, so Theodore had to temper his confidence that he could skate the razor edge of Sombra’s deadly hatred with the understanding that cheese did not look like a trap either, until the snap.

Leaving New Leaf alone in the cage for a few minutes had been a calculated risk which should have been easy, considering his Slytherin heritage, but Theodore had found himself rushing to get his supplies gathered and apportated back into the cage instead of outside of it for a proper examination of the trap. In hindsight, it had been a risk that he would not repeat, but his concern was… troubling. And it warranted considerable thought when he had more time.

Theodore never really had a friend before, and did not expect his first to have four hooves and a tail.

“Leaf, do you trust me?” asked Theordore on a whim, waving his parchment full of notes so the ink would dry faster.

“Not any more,” muttered New Leaf, keeping his rear firmly pointed at Theodore and his trembling tail tucked tightly against his rump.

“How about me?” Shining Armor gave a short grunt, as if actual thought were painful. “Princess Celestia sent you. I trust her. As for the rest, we’ll see.”

“I suspect this is not the only quiet trap around here that has been lurking out of sight since Sombra’s demise,” said Theodore, pointing with his quill at several locations on his map of the castle. “It’s too smooth, practiced, and efficient. I can feel it change when outside conditions vary. Adapt. Compensate. Like it’s watching. Thinking. That’s why I left the letter for you while gathering my notes. And why I left Granite the instructions on where to find us.”

Granite Peaks gave a curt nod to Shining Armor’s inquiring glance. “How d’ya think I knew where to go in the sealed-off section?”

“Sombra didn’t seem to like clever traps where he might step in them while checking on his other traps,” continued Theodore, giving his notes one last check before putting them away. “I presume that’s why the staircase and the secret entrance were clean. I checked,” he added.

Granite Peaks seemed to be set back a step. “I didn’t,” he admitted.

“Don’t do it now,” cautioned Theodore quickly. And since New Leaf had been traumatized enough, he added, “I’d like to keep the area clear of unicorn magic until I’m done. I’ll need a volunteer to test a theory, though.”

“Me,” said Shining Armor without hesitation.

Sweetie Belle was used to chaos, but Discord’s version always came with chocolate rain or orange frogs… Well, that was Twilight Sparkle’s kind of chaos, which was sometimes really difficult to tell from Discord. Human chaos came in the form of hundreds of students running around with schedules, although Wycliffe took great pains to tell her at breakfast that this First Year Hogwarts class was far smaller than most, and they had a greatly simplified schedule with only seven classes.

Simple was still quite complex in a castle that lacked any signs or door numbers. It helped that the First Year Houses had been consolidated into single classes instead of the normal routine of having two houses per class. All they had to do was spot the other First Year students who had been in the boats, give them a quick hug (or at least Sweetie did), and hunt for any other strays. Sparrow had been quite insistent that she knew where the classes were, but was turned around in short order and decided it was best to go along with the group, muttering to herself something about getting a packet of graph paper and mapping their dungeon party.

To Sweetie’s astonishment, their first class was with Professor McGonnagal in a big stone room sculpted with swooping arches and flowers on the walls and a bunch of cages hanging from the ceiling. There did not seem to be any creatures in the cages, but there were creatures in the room because several of the students had pets on a shoulder or in pockets. The official letter she had received in Equestria said a First Year could only have a cat, owl or a toad, which Sweetie had most carefully not mentioned to Fluttershy or she could have easily wound up with all three, as well as a few extras. A pet would have been a distraction from school and making friends, or at least she thought so, but Lady Rose had a beautiful scarab of some sort nestled in her curly blonde mane, and Miss Volant had an extremely small dog with bulgy eyes in her oversized purse so Sweetie was reconsidering her decision.

There did not appear to be an instructor in the beautiful ornate classroom, but there was a large and quite familiar cat sitting passively on the teacher’s desk in front of the room. It was familiar to Sweetie, but Sparrow gave a little squeak of startlement when the cat shifted to Professor Mcgonagall and she began her introductory lecture. It was filled with complicated warnings and detailed explanations of their upcoming year of learning, but Sweetie was so excited that very few words made it through her bubbling elation and onto paper. Sparrow likewise took extremely brief notes along with a few detailed doodles of interesting things around the room, while Wycliffe bent over his quill with serious intent, just barely lifting his eyes to glance at the various things the professor wrote on the chalkboard in violet and puce letters.

“Transfiguration is some of the most difficult and complex magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” cautioned the professor after her long introduction to the class subject. “With that in mind, I would like to introduce a visiting noted wizard, Babajide Akingbade, the current Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.”

A rather unimpressive human stood up from a chair in the shadows of the classroom and nodded once at Professor McGonnagal. He was dark, quite nearly one shade away from ebony, and dressed in a very simplistic outfit compared to the rest of the wizards she had seen. He did not wear the traditional wizard’s pointed hat, but left his bald head shine in the mixed torchlight and sunshine of the classroom, which seemed rather odd to Sweetie since she was unaccustomed to heads without hair. At least he was smiling in a very subtle manner that did not show his teeth, and his attentive dark eyes darted around the room.

“Such a promising class, Headmistress.” His intent gaze swept over Sweetie Belle with only a slight hesitation before resting on Wycliffe in the seat next to her. “The study of magic in my homeland is significantly different from what you will experience for the next few years, although one of you already knows magic that may be considered just as unique. Uagadou is the largest wizarding school in Africa, established at nearly the same time as Hogwarts, and due to a message that I received last night—”

Akingbade’s eyes slid sideways until he was facing a portrait on the wall where a very familiar dark alicorn looked back at him for just a moment until it faded into the painting’s shadows. He shook his head ever so slightly and continued, “Were we notified, our school would have been more than pleased to offer a student of our own to assist in this foreign land.”

Sparrow’s hand shot up and she started talking at the same time. “I thought your school focused on transfiguration instead of counter-curses. At least that’s what it said in the school index of Hogwarts, a History because I wanted to see what the various countries did with their magic and some of them are a little weird. Cliff said his brother was going to the pony world as a curse-breaker, and there’s nobody as sneaky and experienced with curses as a Slytherin.”

In the resulting silence, Sparrow’s slender arm began to lower, bit by bit, until she rested both hands on the desk and wrapped her fingers together. The rest of the students whispered quietly to each other, but Sweetie could see Harold Puckle over at the edge of the classroom straighten up his green tie and look moderately pleasant for a moment instead of the constant twitching he had been displaying since Sweetie had first met him. Agatha next to him did not seem to appreciate the compliment, and narrowed her eyes in what was probably supposed to be an intimidating glare but only succeeded in making her look squinty.

“You will wait until you are called upon, Miss Lilley,” said McGonnagal calmly. “Two points will be taken from Gryffindor Horse… I mean House,” she clarified instantly with a grim expression that cut off the few student snickers cold. “Professor Akingbade will be a guest lecturer at Hogwarts several times this year, and I expect him to receive the same respect as the rest of your professors.”

“I’m sorry, Headmistress,” said Sparrow. It looked as if she were going to keep talking, but Sweetie kicked her carefully in the hind leg under the table, and from her reaction, Wycliffe had done the same from the other side.

Sparrow remained silent for the rest of the class while Professor Akingbade continued his introduction in what sounded like a well-practiced speech, complete with examples of how his school practiced wandless magic. He transfigured an apple into an abacus, then a funny-looking animal with a long nose, and finally into a slice of cake with creamy frosting before looking up to the class.

“Pineapple upside-down cake,” he stated, producing a fork out of thin air and placing it on the plate. “Would anybody like a bite?”

Hands shot up, including Sweetie’s, but Sparrow spoke up while waving her hand frantically.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she blurted out. “I mean you’re a professor at the school— Or lecturer which is nearly the same thing and Professor McGonnagal is right there but I’ll bet this is a lesson on how not to trust things that have been polymorphed into other things. Right?” she added weakly.

Akingbade stood with the slice of cake in his hand for a long moment, then did something to make it all turn into fluttering moths that flew into all the corners of the classroom. “Impressive,” he murmured nearly under his breath. “But out of turn,” he added louder. “Two points from Gryffindor House. It is also entirely correct, so five House points will be added. The rest of you who raised your hands, were you prepared to eat the cake?”

Most of the class nodded, except for Wycliffe who was still silently taking notes. That seemed to attract the dark wizard’s attention even more than hand-waving or speaking out of turn. Akingbade took several slow steps and stopped in front of their table, waiting until Wycliffe had finished writing and looked up.

“Have you no opinion on my creation, Mister Nott?”

Wycliffe shook his head, waited until it was obvious that a longer response was required, then said, “Only a complete fool would eat something that came out of a classroom. Including potions. Most potions, particularly ones made by First Years. And my brother mentioned that the Care of Magical Creatures class occasionally has cakes, which should be avoided at all costs.”

Very slowly, Akingbade nodded, although his impassive expression did not change even in the least. “Consumption of transfigured items is as problematic as you say. But what if I were to offer to transfigure you into a creature as an example for the class…”

“I would turn you down, sir.” Wycliffe’s thick square glasses glinted in the light as he matched unblinking gazes with the dark professor, or at least until Akingbade turned to face Sparrow.

“And you?” he asked.

It was the first time Sweetie could remember her tall friend being at a loss for words. Sparrow started to reply three different times before settling back in her seat and shaking her head.

“Any of you?” asked Akingbade, looking across the class and seeing only one upraised hand. “Miss Volant?”

The young girl quickly lowered her hand and asked, “If you transfigure somebody who is an animagus, can they just change back?”

“An intriguing question indeed. Two points to Slythern. The answer is less clear. Miss Lilley?” he added, looking down at where Sparrow’s hand had shot up.

“Is that because of morphic resonance?” she asked.

“Oh!” said Sweetie in a rush. “Twilight talked to us about that since my friends have been transformed a few times. Ponies tend to return to their original form after the transformation spell wears off, if it’s not strong enough to keep them changed. I turned my tutor into a gardenia once,” she admitted. “You’re not supposed to nibble on the leaves when that happens, no matter how worried you are. It leaves toothmarks when they change back.”

* * *

Sweetie Belle was nearly as excited about lunch as she had been with everything so far today, and was learning even more about the human world. She did not have to take notes about the food like she had in Transfiguration class because there were no tests, only lessons learned from eating periwinkles and spending an hour in the loo, although Sparrow called it a bathroom, even when the room did not contain any bathtubs.

After lunch, they had Potions class, which was in a dungeon filled with bottles and flickering flames under caldrons, the skeletons of strange creatures on the walls, heavy tables that bore scars from many exciting explosions, and rooms full of ingredients that she was itching to try, although she had not been permitted to touch any of the fascinating things. They listened to the chubby teacher instead as he talked about all kinds of things involving potions and powders, the steps needed to ensure proper measuring and stewing, and a whole bunch of stuff that Sweetie could not focus on when there were so many other interesting things to look at.

She wanted to make a potion because some of the recipes in the book seemed so interesting, and this was only the beginning book. Her book was crisp and clean, unlike Sparrow’s book which she was doodling in, or Wycliffe’s book which appeared to have been pre-doodled. All of their potion-making equipment had been stored in the room so it would not have taken very long to dig it out and cook something up, but Professor Slughorn was very methodical about his lesson and laid out the schedule in great detail. Twilight Sparkle would have appreciated his teaching process, but probably would have let them make potions anyway.

She was still a little disappointed when they went back out into the chaotic corridors again, seventeen children smaller than the other students but united with Sweetie Belle in the lead, Sparrow herding them together when one or another would get distracted and start to wander, and Wycliffe bringing up the rear. Sweetie was unsure if he was looking for a spot to hide or just did not want to be looked at by the rest of the First Years. The castle was beginning to make more sense as she pressed forward, considering the possibility of returning to unicorn form in order to have a point ahead of the young human herd so they could make better time.

“Ah, there you are,” called out Percival. “Make way, there. Professor coming through. Get to your classes,” he chastised a taller cluster of older students with green ties.

“Hello, Percival!” chirped Sweetie, who nearly tripped over her own people-feet again when she turned around. It made for a sudden plug in the flow of students down the corridor, so she took a step back toward the wall while Sparrow encouraged the rest of the First Years to stand out of the way while they talked. “We were going to explore the castle before dinner, since our schedules have a hole in them.”

“You should be headed back to your House common rooms to consolidate your notes before the meal. That’s what the space is for,” said Percival, even though he looked slightly distracted. He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice slightly. “You have History of Magic tomorrow, right?”

Sweetie nodded, even though several of the First Years behind her let out quiet groans.

“Well… There’s a visiting historian in the class.” Percival seemed to be struggling over a word, then said, “He’s an Equestrian.”

The groans from the other First Years transitioned into various interested noises.

“And he’s a changeling,” added Percival rather reluctantly.

“Wait a moment, Professor Weasley,” said Wycliffe. “Changelings are fey creatures. The castle wards should keep them out unless they are invited.”

“He’s an Equestrian changeling, which is a horse of a different colour. It’s rather complicated for being so simple. He seems to have hitch-hiked here as your knapsack,” said Percival, looking at Sweetie. “We can’t send him back through your portal because the Wizengamot is in recess for the next several weeks, and the Ministry can’t figure out how to categorize him.”

“I have a good friend who is a changeling,” said Sweetie. “She’s sweet.”

“This one is—” Percival seemed to be looking for a word, and Sparrow remained quiet for a change.

“We don’t even have Care of Magical Creatures until next year,” said one of the First Year Ravenclaws in their group. “Shouldn’t an advanced class study this specimen?”

“She’s not a specimen,” said Percival, only to backtrack. “Well, he. I think. Headmistress McGonagall says we should treat him like a guest. Or a student. And since he has no experience with our world, he has been assigned to a professor.”

“So, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher?” asked Francis.

Percival shuddered. “No.”

* * *

Seventeen young students made an appreciable amount of noise while trying to remain silent, possibly more than if they had just walked through the castle courtyard and into the clock tower like they were headed for a class. The Ravenclaws tended to linger at the back of the group with Wycliffe, while Sweetie and Sparrow forged ahead as if they knew where they were going. And to be fair, Sparrow made far fewer wrong turns than Sweetie, who felt as if there really needed to be a piece of cheese at the end of the maze, or at least a food pellet.

“We’re not going to miss supper, are we?” asked Francis Helpenstall again. He rubbed his stomach with one thick-fingered hand and added, “I didn’t get out of the infirmary this morning in time to get more than a crust of bread for breakfast.”

“Covered with a whole jar of preserves,” whispered Agatha loud enough that everypony could hear.

“I was in a hurry,” said Francis defensively. “Are you sure you know where we’re going, Miss Lilley? This place has more wings than a bucket of chicken.”

“I think so.” Sparrow stopped at a heavy iron-bound door, hesitated for a moment, then opened it a crack to peek in. Seventeen students and one door did not make for a good view, but with some pushing and edging inside, eventually they all got a good look at the odd classroom beyond.

Sweetie was just getting used to ghosts, seeing their silvery forms drifting past when walking in the corridors or in the Great Hall. It was far more odd to see one behind a desk with a changeling sitting on the other side, and a great amount of paperwork piled between them. Even odder, the ghost appeared to be sleeping. His face was cushioned by his crossed arms, and his long silvery hair spilled out across the heaps of paper around him like a nest. A faint snore drifted up from his vicinity, and one tiny parchment note fluttered in the etheric breeze provided.

And there was also a changeling at the wide desk, working his way through a stack of paper with an inked quill hovering in his magic and several open books scattered around him.

“It’s a bug,” whispered one of the humans behind her, sounding absolutely terrified.

“He’s just a changeling,” said Sweetie, squinting to get a better look at the ghost instead. “One of my friends in Twilight’s school is a changeling. She’s very nice, with pretty red wings like a ladybug.”

“I don’t like ladybugs,” whispered the voice again. Sweetie looked over her shoulder to see Jill Wyvren at the very back of the group, almost standing on top of Wycliffe. Her long fingers were interlaced together and she was making very small clutching motions over and over. “And spiders.”

“Spiders aren’t bugs,” said Sparrow.

“Not in our world,” said the changeling in a slightly buzzy voice. He looked up from the table with a quill hovering in his green magic. “Not positive about this world. Haven’t had a chat with the creature teacher yet. They said I’m supposed to avoid him for some reason. Is it time for your class already, students?”

“We have dinner first,” announced Francis, looking a bit pale. “Are you going to be there? You don’t eat—” he swallowed “—people, do you?”

“Good heavens, no!” The changeling looked positively shocked with wide teal eyes and ears that did not know where to point, so they flickered all around. He shifted backwards in his chair and whispered, “You don’t eat—”

“Bugs?” said Sparrow. “Naa, nobody I know of eats bugs.”

“Except for candied crickets,” said George Chuffnell.

“And cockroach clusters,” said Agitha with a sniff of superiority. “They’re very good. I have some back in my room if you would like.”

The changeling simply remained in place and stared at them, much like Sweetie imagined she might if she was in the middle of a changeling school which was discussing the best way to prepare ponies for dinner. She had to admit it was very much like some of what Sweetie felt in some small insectile fashion, and Princess Celestia had sent her to this world to make friends, so…

“Why don’t you come back to the dining room with us?” she asked. “I mean you're kinda-sorta a professor and a student.”

“The Great Hall.” The changeling blinked several times. “Undisguised? I fear the students might panic.”

“No, they—” started Sweetie, only to be cut off by Sparrow.

“Yes, they would,” she admitted. “I about jumped out of my shoes when I saw you. I mean you’re not as scary as my uncle’s dragons, but I don’t think wizards and witches react well to the unexpected. Uh, did the teachers do something to you so you can’t change? Because that’s what changelings do, right?”

“Child,” said the changeling with a definite hint of derision in his buzzing voice. “I’ve infiltrated some of the most heavily guarded places in Equestria, which required changing into many, many different things. Humans are easy.”

There was a sharp green glow, and by the time Sweetie had blinked once, an old white-haired man stood at the desk, holding a quill in one wrinkled hand. He was not exactly as tall as most of the Hogwarts professors, and his gold-rimmed glasses perched precariously on the end of his thin nose like the changeling had not quite gotten the proportions correct, but he would have fit in perfectly at any of the human places Sweetie had visited so far since very few humans were exactly the same as each other either.

All of the students gave a little gasp or a squeak except for Alfred, who merely frowned slightly and made a low humming noise. The other Ravenclaw students likewise expressed intense interest in the changeling process, and Sweetie thought they might have been stuck there all evening with questions if Sparrow had not spoken louder than the rest.

“Great! Let’s go eat, Professor… Uh. What’s your name?”

“I don’t have one yet,” said the old man, leaning against the desk and getting familiar with standing on two legs, a process that Sweetie was quite familiar with. “Infiltrators get assigned names and histories unless we’ve captured a pony and replace them. And you can’t pronounce my real name without pheromone glands and a squigglyfronk. It projects emotions,” he added at the general look of bafflement that had swept across the First Year students.

“Names have power,” said Wycliffe, which was a bit of a shock to Sweetie since he had been quiet for so long, but she backed him up and nodded vigorously.

“That’s right. My friend Spike says knowing somedragon’s name, their real name, gives you power over them. That’s why the Dragonlord knows everydragon’s names.”

“Interesting.” The disguised changeling made an attempt at writing down a note of some sort, but smudged the ink and nearly upset his inkwell in the process much the same way that Sweetie did when she first was trying to figure out fingers. “I suppose I should have some sort of human name here so I don’t stand out, but most of what I’ve read so far involves human and goblin leaders, and I don’t think those would be very appropriate.”

“You mean like calling yourself Elagabalus or Ragnuk,” said Jill Wyvern.

“Exactly.” The changeling pointed at her. “Five points to Ravenclaw. That is what I’m supposed to do when somehuman makes a good educational point, is it not?”

“You’re not really a professor,” said Francis carefully. “You need the authority to award House points. But having a name would be a good start.”

“Blattodea,” said Kim Byng, a First Year Gryffindor who had also been very quiet up to that point. “It’s the Latin root for cockroach.”

The changeling winced slightly, and rubbed his long human nose. “The purpose of a good name is to avoid sounding like a changeling. Unless it is particularly clever.”

“Then Archie,” said Sparrow. “There was an old newspaper columnist who wrote in all lower case, pretending that the articles were all typed by a cockroach who could only hop on one key at a time. That would make you Archibald Blatt, which certainly sounds like a good wizard name.”

A general wave of approval swept around the group, mostly led by Francis who was inching his way toward the door so he could be first in line for lunch.

“Splendid,” declared the newly named Archie. “Professor Blatt it is. I suppose since my real name is unpronounceable, that gives changelings an edge over wizards.”

“And yet, you were caught, and you’re here,” said Wycliffe almost immediately.

“And not in the Great Hall where all the food is,” said Francis again. “We’re going to be late.”

* * *

As it turned out, they were not very late at all. There was a bit of a buffer zone between when all the students were supposed to be at their assigned House seats and when the food started. It was a little perplexing to Sweetie that an extra place setting had been laid at the teacher’s table so that Archie had a spot to sit, but she was learning how much this place was like Pinkie Pie, and things just ‘happened’ all over the place.

The old professor with excessively thick glasses beside Archie seemed to know something was up, and she engaged in a whispered conversation with him that lasted until Professor McGonagall went to her owl-podium and asked all the students to be quiet.

“We have a few announcements, so please settle down. First, due to a series of unexpected events during last evening’s Sorting, the Professors Gowans did not get introduced. Professor?”

A tall lady dressed all in black stood briefly at the professor’s table, gave a brief nod to the students, then seated herself back next to a stocky human who was as thick as she was thin. The male was also introduced as Professor Gowans, who would be teaching Muggle Studies for the upper-level students while his wife was the professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

It must have been terribly confusing for humans to have the same name, but there was little chance of confusing the one professor with the other. Rowen Gowens was more than painfully thin. To Sweetie’s experienced eye, she was fashion-model thin, the kind of human who needed to be careful in a stiff breeze or her loose black clothing could billow her up in the air like a kite. Her husband Agustus Gowens only came up to her shoulder, but had an unmistakable density wrapped in a few hundred bits of clothing in all shades of green and brown, with occasional golden overtones in places. A human that large should be friendly, like Hagrid the Magic Creature Teacher, but Agustus had a firm, serious expression that could have been carved on his face like a mask.

Headmistress McGonagall had been talking while Sweetie was considering the new professors. It was going to be quite difficult to make new friends with such difficult challenges, but she returned to alertness when Wycliffe poked her gently in the side.

“This is important,” he hissed. “She’s talking about Quidditch.”

“Quidditch?” said Sweetie, only to cringe nearly down into her robe collar when Headmistress McGonagall’s dark eyes swept in her direction.

“Yes, Quidditch,” said McGonagall to the quiet titters of laughter that swept over the cavernous room. “Please remember that several of our new First Years have not been exposed to the sport yet, but over the years, many of our finest players came from non-wizarding backgrounds. With the destruction of the Hogwarts Quidditch fields, this season will be difficult, but we are working around the issue. House teams will be having tryouts in the adjacent area while the field is being rebuilt, and First Year flying classes in the courtyard will start promptly on Saturday morning as usual.”

It was an interesting thing to consider, and kept Sweetie’s attention. She had not gotten to that section of Hogwarts - A History yet.

“At the suggestion of our newest professor—” McGonagall nodded at Percival, who looked proud enough to pop “—we will be adding a class on Saturday morning.”

A series of groans swept across the room, but the Headmistress quieted them with a short shake of her head. “This will not cover anyone but First and Second Years, and is aimed at giving these younger students some experience in the classes they will be taking in Third Year and up. With that in mind, professors will be preparing one or two ungraded sample classes in Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, Divination, Study of Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures for Saturday morning before your flying practice. This will not affect Quidditch practice for the older students in the least.”

The mood in the room improved markedly, which only made Sweetie more curious about this wizarding sport. All she really knew is that it involved broomsticks and some sort of ball, and that the broomsticks actually flew. Scootaloo would be so jealous if she brought one back to Equestria unless she could bring three of them and teach her friends how to fly too. The idea made her so excited she nearly missed the rest of McGonagall’s speech.

“Students should also be aware that Hogwarts is hosting two Equestrians this school term. In addition to Miss Belle, there is a shapeshifting insect in the History of Magic classroom. He is apparently harmless, or as much as a magical creature can be. He is also a historian, which is why he is in the care of Professor Bins. We know very little about this creature, but we expect our students to show him the courtesy of a visiting lecturer much like Professor Akingbade in the Transformations classroom. That is all of the announcements we have for today. Lunch is served.”

George Chuffnell let out a sharp breath of air that sounded vaguely like “finally” but quickly bent to the task of eating as much of the food that magically appeared on the table as possible, much like the rest of the students. “Pass the potatoes, please.”

“I have to admit, they serve better grub here than the Dee-fak,” said Sparrow as she passed over a bowl filled with fluffy mashed potatoes, glistening with butter. “Dad always tried to get me practiced up with local food wherever my mother was deployed. I can even hold chopsticks mostly right. Better than you’re holding that fork, Sweetie.”

Whatever was in the colorful lumps that Sweetie had managed to stab with her fork tasted good, so she really did not want to ask what was in them until later. The pickled beets, however…

“I didn’t really expect the food either,” she managed without dripping too much. Thankfully, there was a large puce napkin by her plate which she used before adding, “So much of it is different, but there are things that are almost exactly the same. Like those. Wy, could you pass that plate, please?”

“This one?” Wycliffe hesitated with the platter in both hands. “Are you sure? They’re made out of—”

“Don’t tell me yet,” said Sweetie as fast as she could. “Let me try them first. If I don’t like them, then you can. Remember that brown stuff we had at lunch.”

“Braunschweiger,” said Francis, who was busy adding some pickled beets to his plate.

“Yes, that. I liked it until Agitha told me it was made out of livers.” Sweetie frowned at Francis, who had added some pickled okra pods to his plate. “I thought you were supposed to be eating at the Hufflepuff table?”

“The upper-classmen took the pickled beets at our table,” explained Francis. “It was quicker to come over here. I brought you some of those sugar-rolled jelly things that fizz on your tongue since you liked them so much at lunch.”

“Didn’t you put those in your pocket?” asked Kim Byng, the other female Gryffindor in Sweetie's year.

“It’s a clean pocket,” said Francis. “And I wrapped them in a handkerchief. Did you want one too?”

“Ooo, ‘at’s alroight,” said Kim with a stab at the bowl that Sweetie had just pushed over to her. “Noot enough space after the Svedish meatballs.”

“Oh, that’s what they’re called here,” said Sweetie while chewing.

“Here?” George Chuffnell took a break from eating to cock his head to one side and look puzzled. “You have meatballs in your horse-country?”

“Wheatballs,” said Sweetie while chewing. “Mamma makes them every moon, but they mostly come out burnt and crunchy. And my sister tries occasionally, but she adds all kinds of diet stuff to them and we wind up giving them to Opalescence. She’s a cat. She doesn’t like them either. These are a lot better. Minotaurs have something called protein spheres with tomato extract, and griffons have sky-drops, but I’ve never gotten up the nerve to eat them as a pony. Not because they have pony in them. The Treaty of Menagerie stopped that centuries ago.”

“Huh.” Sparrow regarded the meatball on the end of her fork. “I guess everybody does have a dish like Swedish meatballs. I wonder what else has parallels in your world, Sweetie.”

Theodore Nott could not help but think how nothing in Hogwarts could compare with his Equestrian experience of being captured in an iron cage with a frightened unicorn, and having another unicorn outside of the cage volunteer to help. However on the familiar side of things, Shining Armor was most certainly a Gryffindor, with all the intelligence of the average Hufflepuff.

“You’re certain?” asked Theodore. “I’m not quite sure how Sombra’s magic is going to shift when I do this. It could be dangerous.”

“Will it help you find and disarm Sombra’s traps and protect my family?” asked the unicorn with a gaze that never wavered off Theodore’s eyes.

To Theodore’s surprise, Granite Peaks spoke up. “Sometimes, the only way to tell what a trap does is to stomp on it, good and solid. There are only so many ways to hide a trap this big, and it slipped right past me. If it will help, I’ll do whatever crazy thing the human wants.”

“No, this is my responsibility,” said Shining Armor, stepping forward in front of Theordore’s boss. “Besides, whatever this triggers, I’m better prepared to face it. Go ahead, Mister Nott. I’m ready.”

“Very well.” Theodore bent down and got a good grip around New Leaf’s scrawny neck before pointing his wand at Shining Armor on the other side of the bars. “Castellum!”

17. Adaptation

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Adaptation

“Well, that was unexpected.” Granite Peaks scowled at the iron cage in the middle of the room and the unicorn it now contained. “Your Highness, you need me to get you out of there.”

“No,” said Shining Armor rather firmly. The unicorn prince looked around his limited domain, restricted by the close grid of iron bars and the featureless crystal room around it. “I can hold the cage open for a few hours if needed. Mister Nott, do you have the information on the trap that you were looking for?”

“In a minute.” Theodore had not stopped waving his wand since exchanging places with the prince. He had expected something unusual from King Sombra’s twisted mind, but having the cage bars collapse around the targeted victim was fairly straightforward. Theodore could have used a shield spell to hold the bars open long enough to escape, but the unicorn’s shield was stable as a chunk of granite, and showed no sign of weakening.

“Shining Armor, you said you could hold this shield for hours?” It had been frustrating for Theodore since the unicorn spell was practically invisible to his own detection charms. It took a few moments to realize that was due to his every spell being deflected almost casually, as if Theodore was trying to look at an angled mirror.

“This size?” The unicorn shrugged. “Until I get tired. Still, I have things to do today, so I’d appreciate it if you would pick up the pace.”

“Understandable.” Theodore finished his inspection with several of his more tricky detection spells. “I’ll have to write up my notes afterward. I keep expecting the Carrows to demand three or more scrolls on how to use this spell on other wizards.”

“Wonderful people at your school,” said Shining Armor.

“Better than mine,” growled Granite Peaks. “Learned my craft in the Manehattan Brambles. Hundreds of ponies, all fighting and clawing for survival just one step above the sewer. Third of four foals in my family. Only one to make it out, and I’ve still got a catch in my shoulder where my father stuck the knife.”

“What about your mother,” asked Theodore out of reflex.

“He stabbed her first.” Granite Peaks scowled at the trap. “Wrap it up, boy.”

“Did she… die?” asked New Leaf, who was practically glued to Theodore’s leg.

“None of your business, coward.” Granite turned his scowl in Theodore’s direction. “Get him out of there. Now.”

“Not a problem.” Theodore aimed his wand carefully so he would not catch the pony prince in the fringes of the spell. “Reducto.”

And nothing happened, except for the iron bars around Shining Armor constricting slightly more.

School in the human world was far more complicated than Twilight Sparkle’s School of Friendship. Homework there had been pleasant discussions with other friendly students in the evenings and lessons during the day. Here, the homework involved far more writing, researching into books, and listening to lectures full of facts that she had never seen before.

Take astronomy, for example. The human stars stayed put, which seemed to be a terrible lack of creativity on behalf of whoever was responsible for their arrangement, and the moon had the terrible tendency to show up in the daylight instead of being restricted to the night as it should have been.

When Sweetie brought up the topic to Professor Sinistra, who taught the class, the elderly witch had the most peculiar reaction. First she laughed. Then after a few minutes, she had gotten quite serious, called class into order, and proceeded as if Sweetie had not said a thing. It was not until an hour later when all of the students were busy with their telescopes trying to find Saturn, when Sweetie saw the professor slip a small flask out of her pointed hat and take a quick sip. Then she looked up into the star-strewn sky, held her thumb and forefinger at arms length as if she were pinching the moon, then moved it back and forth for a time before taking a much longer drink.

It meant that Astronomy was going to be much more difficult than Sweetie expected. Nothing in the sky matched what she had learned as a foal, even if it stayed in place.

Still, it was fun sitting out under the stars with her classmates. At home, Twilight Sparkle had all kinds of information about the stars that almost but not quite matched what she was learning in human classes. Sparrow was filled with astronomic knowledge also, some of which baffled the other students who did not have muggle backgrounds, and it led to questions that neither wizards or unicorns could answer.

“Humans traveled to the moon?” asked Alfred. “Impossible. It’s too far away.”

“Mister Cattermole,” said Professor Sinistra, “you should be very careful when using that word.”

“What?” Alfred blinked once and looked at the rest of the Ravenclaw First Years around him, who were all shaking their heads. There were four female humans who had been Sorted into his House, leaving him the only male in his class. This had turned into a four-way competition among the Ravenclaws to attract Alfred’s attention, and Zenobia Worplesdon was currently in the lead. She slid a book out from her bag and leafed through the pages briefly before placing one long finger on a paragraph.

“The American school had many of their top intellectuals infiltrated into the Apollo program,” she read, “although tragically they were unable to intervene in order to save several of their astronauts during an accident early in the program when a number of gremlins infested the launch facility.”

“Americans put twelve men on the moon,” declared Sparrow proudly. “I wanted to be an astronaut and go to the moon too, but I didn’t like the restrictions. The job sounds a lot like a lab rat in a suit.”

“My sister and her friends went to our moon,” said Sweetie Belle.

“Oh, really?” Professor Sinistra put a bookmark into her sheaf of star charts and leaned forward. “I was unaware that Equestria had spaceships.”

“Oh, they didn’t use a ship,” continued Sweetie. “Applejack lassoed the moon and all of her friends pulled it closer so they could walk up the rope. They even made friends of the dream creatures who live there. It was so exciting I wish they had taken me with them.”

“Oh,” said Professor Sinistra rather quietly.

After class was over and the First Years were headed back to their Houses, Sweetie looked back over her shoulder and caught the elderly professor holding her hands as far away from her face as possible, looking as if she were trying to grab the moon between finger and thumb again. It was a bit silly for a human, since she did not even have a rope, but humans could do some incredibly unlikely things so maybe she was planning on a class trip for the rest of the First Years later in the school year.

* * *

“Was that supposed to happen?” asked New Leaf, who was still hiding behind Theodore’s leg.

“Nothing happened,” said Theodore, still a little baffled at the lack of response from a fairly reliable spell. Reducto had not been counterspelled, blocked, reflected, or any other method of spell elimination that he was used to. It just did not work.

“That’s what I meant,” whispered New Leaf. “Should we run?”

“No. I don’t think so.” Theodore tried several other spells on the iron bars surrounding Shining Armor with much the same non-result. Even the blasting spell did nothing but strike a few small sparks, and Granite Peaks’ own attempts at a counterspell were likewise swallowed up without a response.

“This is ridiculous. I have things to get done today.” Shining Armor’s horn glowed brighter and the bars began to bend from the inside as his shield expanded. Granite Peaks had the same reaction as Theodore, resulting in both of them struggling to get through the hall doorway at the same time. New Leaf had a head start and was waiting on them in the corridor beyond, just behind the doorway for cover.

“Can he break those bars?” asked Theodore to himself.

“The boy can shield a city,” growled Granite Peaks. “Saw him cover Canterlot for several days during the wedding. Alicorns would strain to do it, but he had it down cold. Of course he had to deal with a changeling queen in the process, but—”

The sound of iron bars losing physical cohesiveness made any conversation impossible. Bits and pieces of shattered cage scattered in all directions, some of which ricocheted off the opposite wall and clattered down the corridor. Theodore thought that was it for the trap, but New Leaf had a look of intense panic as he shouted, “That’s what an alicorn would do in the trap!”

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place entirely too fast, and Theodore leaned around the corner of the doorway with his wand firmly in hand. The unicorn prince appeared unhurt, but from the amount of panic that Leaf was putting out, that was only temporary.

“Accio!”

The summoning spell generally was not used for people. Even a poor wizard could counter it easily enough, or divert it so his opponent would catch a piece of surrounding debris instead of the expected target flying within reach. It also varied in intensity depending on the willpower of the caster, and at that moment, Theodore had enough will for a whole squad of aurors. The armored unicorn flew in his direction like he had been fired from a Propelling Spell, leaving Theodore barely enough time to realize his mistake before what he estimated as the weight of thirty or forty stone of pony smashed into him.

The back wall of the corridor was very solid. So was Shining Armor’s armor. The squishy center of the wizard sandwich, not so much.

Thankfully, Theodore did not lose consciousness, because the end result of his royal rescue was dramatic enough for him to remember for years.

First, the entire ceiling above the trap dropped.

Hundreds of tons of stone and brilliant crystal smashed down into the room that Shining Armor had recently occupied, caving in the floor and continuing down into an unseen basement with an indescribable noise. Then the floor above that one also collapsed, dropping into the hole with enough force to hammer a blast of air through the open doorway and scatter their little trap-breaker group in all directions.

It took a while for quiet to return, and even then it was not quite as quiet as Theodore wished. Little chunks of stone or crystal plummeted into the dusty hole with thunks and clunks, and there was a wheezing noise that took a few minutes to identify as coming from New Leaf, where he was having a panic fit in the middle of the dusty corridor.

The walk over to the frantic unicorn was quite difficult, as Theodore’s body was still insisting it had been the target of a Jelly Legs curse or perhaps a full bottle of Firewhiskey. He passed over a Pepperup potion, ensured Leaf drank the whole thing, and then got out one for himself, firmly resisting the urge to drink more of them.

Shining Armor did not seem to be phased by the incident at all. He walked over to the open doorway, looked down into the wreckage, and shook his head. “As if I didn’t have enough things to do today. My sister’s coming to visit.”

“Everybody please settle down.” Professor Slughorn tapped the chalkboard with his wand and a series of instructions appeared. “We’ve reviewed basic lab procedures, reagent handling, emergency responses, and the quiz over the list of materials we will be using for the first semester of the class. Five points to Gryffindor, by the way, for scoring so highly. Is there a secret to your success, Mister Chuffnell?”

“Me?” George looked up with a start and stopped trying to tie the scrunchie around the end of his braid. He looked remarkably shy for a human his size as he blurted out, “Sparrow made us study.”

“Cliff knew all the herbs and stuff first,” said Sparrow, “along with a whole bunch of stuff that isn’t in the book. So he really deserves the credit. Right?”

Wycliffe started to respond, but waited until Professor Slughorn nodded at him. “I grew up in a fen, sir. Father made certain I knew anything that could harm us, and Grandfather gave me all kinds of advice that I’m going to be careful not to follow.”

“Next time we should have a study session in the Great Hall,” said Sweetie, bouncing in her seat. “Everybody can get great scores that way.”

“I… um… don’t think the House competition is supposed to work that way,” said Francis Helpenstall. He looked up at the professor and added, “Is that right, sir?”

“As much as it pains me to admit it, young man, you are correct. Two points to Hufflepuff.” Professor Slughorn turned a disapproving look at the two Slytherin First Years. “I have seldom seen such abysmal grades from my House. If it takes tutoring sessions from Mister Nott to bring your scores up to passable, then I will approve weekly after-hours use of the Great Hall.”

Sweetie’s hand shot up of its own accord. “Can’t we have them in the alchemy classroom instead?”

“Miss Belle, the idea of allowing Slytherin and Gryffindor students together in a room with access to the potion storeroom is on the order of allowing Backfire Nott into the castle.” Professor Slughorn tapped the chalkboard with his wand again. “With that in mind, we shall take today’s class period to brew an extremely simple potion so you can practice your techniques on something you will be deeply appreciative of learning in a few years. The cure for boils requires only the ingredients I have laid out on the front table and a caldron of water brought to a light boil. Begin.”

“Ah, Professor Weasley. I was looking for you.” McGonagall swept down the hallway at a brisk pace, holding a piece of smoking parchment ahead of her. “Fawkes brought this just now. I thought you should read it before giving it to Professor Slughorn and Professor Flitwick.”

“Is it something from Equestria?” asked Percy out of reflex before catching himself. “Oh, of course it is. I thought things were going too smoothly.”

“One would think a period of relative normality in your House would be welcome,” said McGonagall as she handed over the smoldering parchment. “I cherished every moment of silence, brief as they were.”

“Silence is a sign of plans being made. My mother always got twitchy when the house was quiet for too long. Fred and George once led her on for a whole day, just being quiet and well-behaved until she blew her stack.” Percy read down the parchment with a slow shaking of his head. “I don’t see why Celestia had to warn us about keeping Sweetie Belle out of the kitchen. Students are not permitted in there at all. Well, except for the Hufflepuffs. They sneak into the kitchen for late night snacks and if you lower a basket on a string, you can sometimes get them to share.” He glanced up abruptly, only to catch a slight smile on the Headmistress’ face. “You didn’t?”

“When I was that age?” McGonagall nodded.

“So every year discovered the same trick, and the professors knew about it?” said Percy with a hint of indignation that he could not disguise.

“The Slytherins sailed innovative little paper boats around the lake over to the Hufflepuff’s side of the castle,” said McGonagall. “Ravenclaws found a different method every year, so I didn’t keep track of them. Young children need a way to show how clever they are, but since Sweetie Belle is not a Hufflepuff, thank goodness, she has no practical way of getting into the castle kitchens and—”

There was a noise in the castle corridor, much like something very large clearing its throat and sneezing. It was accompanied by a wave of puce smoke billowing out of the Potions classroom, coiling and writhing like a group of large diffuse snakes with a bad case of St. Vitus Dance.

Shortly afterwards, the entire class of First Years followed, each coughing and waving their hands to clear the air. At first, Percy did not recognize any of them, since orange soot was a universal component of every exposed surface. Altitude was a good indicator, and he quickly turned his attention to the tallest and most slender of the bunch, who seemed like she was enjoying the situation entirely too much.

“Miss Lilly,” he started with his sternest expression. Unfortunately, youthful speed and his own loss at what to say next allowed Sparrow Lilly to get her words in while he was thinking.

“You should have seen it, Professor Weaseley! Sweetie lit the fire under her caldron— Well, she knocked it over and we had to clean up the water first, but when she lit it, WOOSH!”

“Woosh?” asked Percy.

“Woosh,” confirmed the shorter of the three closest First Years. “I’m starting to think she’s a relative.”

* * *

“Far as I can tell, those three cleaned up the spilled water and put it back into the caldron,” said Professor Slughorn once they had the room back to order. Well, mostly order. “Lord knows how many years of potion residue on the desk in tiny doses, all mixed together and given a good dose of Equestrian fire magic.”

Headmistress McGonnagal eyed the barricade of chairs they had assembled to keep the hissing caldron in the classroom corner and determined it was not going to break out for now. “Quite a talented young witch,” she managed while considering the caldron and the sharp pewter teeth it was using to gnaw on a chair leg.

“I wonder if any of the other Houses would be willing to trade.” Percy wrapped the bandage a little tighter around his thumb and added, “I’ll be in the hospital wing if needed. With my luck, it’s poisonous.”

“Venomous,” corrected McGonnagal. “Unless you’re going to eat it. One point from Gryffindor, and I believe I’ll give them five for such an…innovative failure. I’m sure Dumbledore would approve.”

“I believe he would,” said Slughorn. He poured a few drops of a liquid over Percy’s bandage, measured the container’s volume, and took a sip for himself. “I never thought my job would get more difficult after You-Know-Who was defeated.”

Theodore Nott had only thought his job was difficult before. Now that he had time to look over the dusty residue of King Sombra’s innovative trap, he had scaled the difficulty up to Dumbledore level.

“I could use some repair spells,” he mused mostly to himself, “but that would only put the stonework back the way it was before, ready to collapse all over again.”

New Leaf looked as if he were going to comment, but remained relatively silent except for heavy breathing.

“How long do you think conventional repairs will take?” asked Theodore, trying to get some sort of response out of his trapbreaking partner.

“Four moons,” said the trembling unicorn. “Two if King Sombra was in charge. Fatalities were a bonus for him.”

Admittedly, Theodore was not versed in Equestrian construction methods, but it seemed short. “How? I haven’t seen more than a handful of unicorns since I arrived.”

“Earth ponies,” said New Leaf. “They can grow crystals, shape them. Plus, this is the home of the Crystal Princess. They would do anything for her, particularly since nopony was injured in the… collapse. It is considered an extreme stroke of good fortune. And…uh… Your saving Prince Armor.”

There was a very long silence with Theodore determined not to break it.

“Mares,” muttered New Leaf.

It was an interesting admission, so Theodore remained silent to squeeze some more out.

“Before. During Sombra. Mares were desperate to do anything they could if they could get even a little bit of safety.” New Leaf’s jaw worked slowly, as if he were chewing on his tongue. “They hid. Flocked to any stallion who could promise protection, even if it was a lie. Begged griffons to fly them out. Ran into the trackless cold with their foals. Hid in the crystal mines which was also a place of imprisonment for suspected disloyal ponies, so it was more than a little strange. Captured mares… It was more terrible than I can tell. Particularly for unicorns.”

“I don’t see how this relates to me,” started Theodore, only to have New Leaf practically climb the front of his vest and stick a nose into his face.

“You saved Prince Armor. They’re going to see you as a pony to protect them, even if you’re not really a pony. Mares will be coming out of the stonework. You’re the only male of your kind in our entire world. Don’t tell me you will be able to turn them all down.”

The idea came right out of bludger-field and caught Theodore unprepared. The relatively little time he had spent in Equestria had been a time of mental adaptation, appreciation for a well-done manecut, the attention ponies put into their grooming and limited dress. Cutie marks had been a point of curiosity for him, and the few times when he had been caught looking at a young mare’s rear…

“I’ll give you the credit,” said Theodore out of Slytherin instinct.

“I’ll bite you if you try,” snapped New Leaf right back. “The last thing I want is some frantic terrified mare who only sees me as something to hide behind.”

“Or twelve,” said Theodore. “I understand Equestrians do have some herding behavior.”

He had not meant it as a joke. Well, really. New Leaf seemed to take it seriously for a moment, then a look of equine consternation swept over his face in a dozen different twitches and grimaces, before the unicorn very carefully and specifically, stomped on his foot.

“Neither of us want that,” he said, stifling a tense giggle while Theodore was hopping around. “I suppose I can help cover for you if you promise not to tell anypony that I helped.”

There was a high-pitched squeal from behind them, and one of the castle servants came scurrying down the corridor in their direction. She looked oddly happy at having to hop over the occasional bit of scattered rubble, and came to a skidding halt in front of them, scattering a number of small stones.

“I heard what happened to Prince Shining Armor and how you saved him and nopony was hurt in the collapse and I just wanted to thank you for—”

Theodore had never really been hugged by a pony who was not holding back, and his ribs creaked under the strain. Breathing was impossible at the moment, but New Leaf took up the slack quite well.

“Bunnykins, please get a hold of yourself. Princess Cadenza would not appreciate you crushing her new trap breaker so soon. He has a lot of work left to do, and once he’s done, then you can— Urk!

It was New Leaf’s turn in the pink pony vice, and Bunnykins wrapped him up tightly, much like the boa constrictor Theodore had once seen in a muggle zoo. “He could have been hurt,” she whispered. “And both of you saved him. ThankyouthankyouthankyouIneedtogetbacktoworkandthankyou.”

And she was gone, leaving only a bit of drifting dust and cracked ribs to show she had ever been there.

“Ow,” said Theodore, massaging his ribs. “Princess Cadence warned me about a pink pony. That must have been her.”

Later that afternoon, he found out how wrong he was.

Princess Twilight Sparkle brought her friends to visit.

McGonagall had seen everything.

Twice.

Or at she thought so.

“You confiscated their books,” she repeated quietly,

“Aye.” Argus Filch appeared as proud as a crup dog who had just chased the muggle mailman up a tree. Under one arm he carried three Charms textbooks, leaving one hand free to hold onto Sparrow Lilly’s ear.

“Ow!” protested the owner of said ear. The other two students she had expected provided no resistance, Sweetie because she was petting Mrs. Norris, and Wycliffe Nott since he was attempting his best at remaining totally silent and unobtrusive, as if that would render him invisible.

“What are they supposed to do during class?” It felt slightly odd chastizing the elderly caretaker when her normal role was rescuing some of her House students from his over-enthusiastic grasp. “Why in the world would you take their books?”

“It’s in the rules,” he growled with pride. “Your associate signed them. All Ah’m doing is enforcing them.”

“What rules? Oh, give them the books and we’ll sort it out later.” McGonagall aimed one long finger at Sparrow Lilly’s nose. “Right after Charms class. You three. My office. With the books.”

* * *

A change of venue made all the difference. Instead of a crowded Hogwarts hallway, the Headmistress office was a place of authority, where she should have been able to deal with minor problems easier. The problem with the problem was that the addition of a unicorn to the school had also added several oddities that she was afraid were making more sense. Like the low padded bench next to the Headmaster’s desk which would have just fit a tired old unicorn who wanted to rest for a bit and chat with the Headmaster during the founding of the school. Or the covered drinking trough next to it that smelled ever so faintly of aged scotch, which she had never worked up the courage to uncover.

Once she had all three students and Argus Filch lined up, and Professor Weaseley present for a witness, she nodded and began. “Now, it seems we have a misconception here. I see nothing in the rules about confiscating the textbooks for Charms class. They seem to be the correct printing, and there are no cheating spells on them.”

“Rules does too. Right here.” Argus pointed a gnarled finger at a piece of parchment. and handed it over.

“Any and every item in the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes catalog? I fail to see…. Oh, no.”

Percy immediately pulled a catalog from under his robes and began paging through it. “They wouldn’t. I mean he wouldn’t.”

“Most certainly did,” growled Filch. “Page eighty-seven. Halfway down the right side.”

“Candy textbooks,” said Percy. “Variety of flavors, even. Some of them are…gum. Study a chapter and learn it inside and out.”

McGonagall looked at the three candy culprits and held out her hand. Sparrow Lilly reluctantly passed over her book and opened her mouth, only to have the students on each side of her kick opposite ankles.

“Missing two chapters already, Miss Lilly? I would have thought we fed you enough in the Great Hall.” She held out her hand again and collected the remaining textbooks for closer examination. “These are still intact, I see.”

“I hadn’t really gotten started studying before class,” started Sweetie Belle. “I mean it sounded so neat and I had some extra gallions and I was going to show them to Pinkie Pie— She’s not a muggle so it doesn’t count, right?”

Wycliffe cleared his throat and reluctantly added, “From what you’ve said so far about her, I really pity the auror who decides to investigate. And I didn’t tear out any pages because I wasn’t about to put anything in my mouth that came out of that shop.”

“I see.” McGonagall paged through the books while thinking. “Miss Lilly, won’t your lack of reading material interfere with your classwork when it comes time to review for an exam?”

Sparrow shrugged. “I read it once. I’m good.”

“Oh, really.” McGonagall turned to a particular page and read, “Disadvantages of a cheering charm include…?”

“Shortness of breath, loss of concentration, swallowing gum, inability to pronounce cardinal points of the compass for an hour, and pedal transient paresthesia. Not quite sure what the last one is.”

“It’s when your hoof falls asleep,” said Sweetie Belle.

“Oh.” Sparrow smirked in a way that a student facing a headmistress really should not have. “So are we good?”

McGonagall could feel one eyebrow raising despite her best efforts, and she closed the textbook to draw attention away from it so she could view the smug American for a while. “Miss Lilley, have you ever considered that some of the information in your textbooks may be wrong?”

The question obviously caught Sparrow unawares. “Uh… No?”

“Consider it.” She handed the textbooks back to the three students despite Filch’s snort of disapproval. “For now, you may all retain these particular textbooks, with the understanding that this privilege will be revoked if you miss any questions on any of your exams in this subject. At that point, it will be your responsibility to obtain a more conventional textbook to complete the term, with one House point removed for each missing chapter relating to the question or questions.”

“Sounds fair,” said Sparrow unprompted.

“On the other hand,” continued McGonagall, “I will grant Miss Lilley one House point for every structural or factual error she finds in the Charms textbook, up to ten.”

“Why?” blurted out Percy.

“So your brother can print a revised edition, of course. Now come along, you three. Professor Weasely will take you to your next class. Hut, hut.”

McGonagall watched the students depart with a hidden smile. It was good to be the Headmistress.

18. Something Wicked

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Something Wicked

Hogwarts had less homework, and a smaller chance of dying if he failed a test. Theodore Nott still considered Equestria a superior place to learn. There was considerable incentive to get everything exactly right, and enough time to relax between study sessions in a very pleasant environment.

“More shaved ice, Leaf?” Theodore propped his feet up on a second cushion, enjoying a little afternoon sunshine in a delightful small cafe of sorts that sold ice, and only ice, in a bewildering array of flavors. It made a far more comfortable place to review his growing collection of notes than the crystal castle, and with fewer interruptions by star-struck servants who wanted to bask in his presence.

“I’m good.” New Leaf nosed a cushion over next to him and settled in to observe his note-review, placing a half-full crystal glass of some green drink to his side. There was still a sense of unresolved tension in the muscles beneath the unicorn’s coat with the occasional tremor making little waves of teal and glittering silver down his flanks. It made him more comfortable when Theodore put a hand on his shoulder or around his neck and gave him the occasional good-natured tease.

“You don’t want that cute mare to walk by again?” said Theodore while rubbing Leaf’s tense neck. “They’re giving us refills for free, after all.”

“Nothing’s free,” he mumbled. “They just want us around to protect them in case one of Sombra’s traps goes off.”

There were small drink stands in London who made sure they gave free coffee to aurors, so the semi-bribery concept was not foreign to Theodore, but he had never experienced it from the other side. The dark temptation of corruption was undeniable, but he was determined not to yield in the slightest, so he had tucked a short stack of crystal bits into a pocket on his robe. On their way out, he was going to give them to the proprietor regardless of his protests and make haste to get away before he wound up getting another free drink or twelve.

“You have to relax occasionally,” said Theodore. “If you get all tied up in studying and never stop, you miss enormous things. Like the way your city streets wobble,” he added, pointing down the crystal street and waving his finger back and forth as he tracked the eves of various buildings.

“Crystal focuses sunlight. Long flat surfaces make unexpected hot spots as you walk.”

Rather than respond, Theodore took a long drink from his shaved ice and chewed thoughtfully. Some muggle buildings in large cities had the same issue, but the Crystal Empire buildings were more reflective, and there was the possibility of multiple reflections. That raised the potential of a destructive cascade, and if the entire city were arranged in just the right order…

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.” New Leaf had a discouraging squint with both of his ears tucked back, an expression which only grew more dour as Theodore explained his idea in probably far too great detail.

“No,” said Leaf. “Sombra believed in the power of darkness to overcome light. And suppose it could be done. How would you ensure this giant light weapon would only be used properly?”

That was a question that really did not have an answer, or at least a good one. It was worth a bit of travel through the city afterward so the flavored ice had a chance to digest and a few idle thoughts about how little work it would take to adjust the city into a weapon. It was not until they were ready to return to the castle that he noticed something odd.

“The sun is reflecting off the buildings in a pattern,” he mused. “That leaves shadows where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Like there,” said New Leaf. “Oh, no.”

Theodore was off like a shot, charging into the alley with his wand extended and a quick blitz of dueling spells. The shadow twisted around as it fled, nearly invisible against the other shadows in the alley. It almost worked. The creature hissed as it flew, darting between cover while Theodore tried to get in a good shot.

“It’s like the shadows in the laboratory where Peaks’ crew vanished,” he snapped. “Don’t let it touch you.”

“Really?” New Leaf let off a barrage of unicorn magic that cut off the shadow’s retreat, then ducked as the shadow spat something at him. “Do something!”

“It’s shrugging off most of my attacks! Incarcerous!” Swirling ropes condensed out of the shadows and wrapped around the creature…then passed right through it, much like most of Theodore’s spells had so far.

“Protego!” The rapid splat of darkness was barely deflected upwards as Theodore tripped into the muddy alley dirt. The shadowy creature snarled in rage and turned on them both, but bounced off New Leaf’s unicorn shield as he interposed his body between them.

Regular wizard magic was failing, and the shadow creature was gaining more confidence. It was a foolish action worthy of a Gryfindor to go chasing a hostile monster into an alley, a failure of his Slytheren past that was likely to get him killed. There was little Theodore could do except bet on a long shot.

“Nemisul!”

He had studied the Equestrian spell and made some adjustments to it, but actually casting it was different than anything Theodore had ever tried before, forcing his magic into unfamiliar territory, and yet somehow familiar at the same time. Dark threads engulfed the creature in a burst, coiling and twisting like a tornado as it grew in power until it ignited into a blaze of white light that illuminated the dark alley like a lightning strike.

Leaving an empty alley containing nothing but a panting wizard and a panicked unicorn.

“It’s hiding,” blurted out New Leaf with his horn lit to a blinding hue and looking around the alley in a fit of terror.

“It’s gone,” said Theodore. He cast several more detection spells, then a light to illuminate every inch of the alley in bright green. “Totally gone. I can still sense its trail, like the slime a slug leaves behind, but it just… stops. What was that?”

“An umbrum.” New Leaf backed up and flickered his gaze in all green-lit corners of the alley, but at least the magic around his horn began to dim. “They’re terrible monsters from a dimensional fissure. Celestia sealed it permanently, but some of them were trapped here.”

“Obviously.” Theodore cast a few more detection spells around the alley before putting his wand away.

“You were stupid to chase it,” added New Leaf. He turned off his magic with a snap.

“True.” Theodore began walking back in the direction of the crystal castle, only to have New Leaf bite down on the edge of his robe and give it a sharp tug.

“So. That spell. It works, obviously.” The uncomfortable unicorn turned away from Theodore, then back to look up at him.

“You want me to teach it to you? I barely managed it this time. Panic is an excellent motivator, I suppose.”

New Leaf nodded. “Not today, though.”

“Yeah, that’s enough excitement for now.” Theodore patted New Leaf’s sweat-soaked shoulder. “Lunch?”

“Lunch is good,” said New Leaf. “Back in the castle.”

“Back in the castle,” confirmed Theodore.

Maybe they had some sort of Equestrian Firewiskey there.

Sweetie was getting used to drinking pumpkin juice. It was sweeter than she expected, and had certain similarities to when Pumpkin Spice would emerge from her house to terrorize… or bless Ponyville with a yearly tribute to the stuff. Even Pinkie Pie tended to hide in the bakery during Spice Week, as it had come to be known, and more than one tourist stopping by the small town wound up in the hospital emergency room with a mixture of shock and pumpkin overdosing.

Much of the rest of the food at Hogwarts had some interesting parallels to Equestrian cuisine, but not in volume. Rarity had taken Sweetie to one of the most prestigious restaurants in Manehattan once for a seven-course meal, and then they had hit a corndog pushcart for real food afterward so they would not starve to death.

Hogwarts fed the students. Tables groaned with pastries, pies, and cakes, racks of meaty ribs and slices of roast, chicken in every form the fowl could take from egg creams to barbeque, and mysterious sausages that were different every time she tried one.

Sparrow was a bold adventurer in the field of gastronomic excess, and had taken on a nearly formal competition with George Chuffnell about how many of the dishes they could sample together. Wycliffe was the near-opposite, and only ventured away from the category of ‘boiled’ when tempted. That left Sweetie as the middle ground of the table, experimenting with the new foods as prompted and passing on anything that seemed too meaty or odd to Wycliffe, who ate whatever he was given.

“Are you sneaking food back to the dormitories again,” chided Wycliffe to George Chuffnell, who was putting something in his pocket. “If you’re hungry in the middle of the night, you can just ask the house elves for a snack.”

“Really?” Sparrow bounced on her bench, which was quite an achievement considering the bench was made out of solid oak.

“Well, you don’t ask them. That’s against the rules here. Probably,” hedged Wycliffe.

“You’re hiding something,” said Sweetie. “You’ve got that look.”

“Well… My brother said you can make arrangements with the Hufflepuffs and lower down a basket from the Gryfindor common room, out the window over by the globe. They have access to the kitchens. It’s probably easier to just take advantage of house elf tendencies.”

“Using begging eyes?” asked Sweetie. “That works at home.”

“No. You look around your room and say things like, ‘I know I brought a honey-cake back from the Great Hall. I put it down, and now I can’t find it.’ Then you’ll find it.”

“It’s magic?” asked Sweetie.

“It’s cheating,” said Sparrow.

“It’s how you deal with house elves,” said Wycliffe. “Provided it doesn’t go against the rules they have been given. Every magical creature has its own behavior, and you need to know what it is before you deal with them.”

“Good to know somebody’s listening to their teachers.” Dean Thomas dropped onto the bench next to Wycliffe, lifted his pointed hat, and ruffled his hair. “Even if it is the smallest and most tasty of the Gryffindors this year.”

Sweetie liked Dean Thomas. He was tall and handsome for a human, with a hair-thin white scar tracing down the ebon darkness of his cheek that really made him stand out. In addition, he was the Head Boy for Gryffindor this year, having returned to finish up the year of school he missed last year when Voldemort was causing so much death and destruction.

There had been several other Gryffindor students who had trickled in over the last week, looking a bit skittish at the concept of returning to a place where so much had happened to themselves, but Dean had been right there when they came through the door, clapping them on the shoulder or giving the occasional hug. Katie Belle, the other Head Girl for Gryffindor, was in a similar ‘returning’ situation with one significant difference: Quidditch. She had stated quite loudly that she was done with the sport, done forever, and she was going to get through this year — again — if it killed her for real. Again.

It really warranted a question, but Sweetie did not want to ask just yet.

“Anyway,” continued Dean as he put Wycliffe’s hat back on and snugged it tight. “You lot have got Hagrid in your ‘sampler’ Care of Magical Creatures class before noon. I just wanted to let you know, he’s been… a little enthusiastic about giving us exposure to creatures, even under normal circumstances.”

“It’s worse now?” asked Kim Byng, who despite being the only other female Gryffindor in their year, had been fairly quiet around Sweetie Belle to the point where she just blended into the background noise at times.

“Well…” Dean hesitated, then admitted in one long burst of words, “He wanted to bring one of the acromantulas from the Dark Forest in for the Seventh Years to groom. Said it would ‘teach them up’ on how to handle some of the more misunderstood creatures. Turns out they travel in swarms, and there was no way he would wind up with just one of them, so he brought fire crabs for them instead. That should have been acceptable since Fifth Years learn how to tend to them, but he brought giant fire crabs instead, and… Well, the hospital wing has quite a few burn cases now.”

Sweetie perked up. “The potions book had a recipe for burn cream. We could—”

“Your cauldron is still locked in one of the unused classrooms,” said Dean. “Professor Slughorn is working on a potion to turn it back, but he keeps getting bitten. Anyway, Hagrid has been talking about how he has a new creature for your ‘sample’ class this morning, something that’s cute and adorable and shouldn’t harm a fly.” Dean shuddered. “When you come back from class, the hospital wing is second door on the right in the main corridor.”

Sweetie bounced on her bench. “And we can visit and cheer them up!”

“Through our bandages,” muttered Wycliffe.

* * *

“I don’t think a direct approach is going to work,” mused Theodore. He ran one hand over the city map that they had put together, touching the various sigils and glyphs that marked locations of Sombra’s hidden installations along with new marks for shadow sightings. “Several of these seem tied together, and from the pattern, I’m fairly certain we’ve missed some here, and here while we were shadow hunting last week,” he added, touching the map on unmarked places. “Breaking those links will weaken or strengthen the rest, so we don’t want to start cracking them until we know where they all are.”

“Agreed,” huffed Granite Peaks. “I was too impatient, and pushed my crew too hard.”

Theodore took a moment to look at the portrait he had painted of the mixed unicorn and griffon crew. “At least we know they’re alive.”

Since there was not even a hint of movement among the individuals, none of their life essence had escaped from the dark crystal trap, which he preferred to think of as a good thing instead of the possibility that the trap completely consumed the souls of its victims. If he had been working from a wizard photograph, the parallel would not have worked since photos captured a reflected image of a particular time instead of a bit of unused soul. Wizarding photographs could wave and move about for centuries, regardless of the corporal status of their subjects. The Equestrian cursebreakers were alive. He had to believe that, or he would be so rattled it would be difficult to move forward.

“For now,” said New Leaf, “I think we should destroy what shadows we find and avoid any activity in that immediate area until we have a better idea about what happened to your crew.”

“To keep it from happening to us,” said Theodore.

“To keep from hurting them more,” said Leaf. “The previous crew documented traps that are designed to cripple their target, then kill whoever goes to rescue them. If the trap draws on the power of its captives, we could kill them ourselves by simply prodding at the exposed parts of the spell.”

Granite Peaks gave off a roughly positive grunt. “Traps are useless if your bait dies. Seal off the corridors we find using your monkey spell, investigate the other portions of the city you think might have more of his workings, and leave my crew in limbo until we have answers. I hate this plan, but it’s all we have.”

The older unicorn pushed himself away from the table with a grunt. “I’ve been too close to this ever since they got captured, so I’m going to get some outside perspective. There are artifacts at the Ponyville School of Friendship that were involved in some dark magic ritual which nearly destroyed magic across the whole country. Maybe they’ll shed some light on this, or one of the other leads that Twilight Sparkle sent me will pan out. Might even be able to catch Starswirl and ask his advice, if I can make sense of it. I want you to remain here, seal off all of the locations we’ve found, and carefully poke around the rest of the city to see what I’ve missed.”

“What if we find something?” asked New Leaf in a very small voice.

“Deal with it, one way or another.” Granite Peaks put a set of his notes to one side and scratched lines on a new map of the countryside. “Don’t limit yourself to the city once you have all the sites sealed. The mines should be safe as anything, but check anyway. There are a few other sites that deserve some poking, too. You never know what you’ll find if you look where nobody has checked before. I’ll be back in a few weeks. Until then, use your initiative and try not to destroy the city.”

It irked Theodore, but not enough for him to say anything about it until he was standing on the balcony of his room, watching the distant southbound train pull out of the station.

“I wonder if Granite Peaks is a relative of Headmaster Dumbledore,” he mused. “Dumping this on us, with no support, is just hanging a millstone around our necks and throwing us in the lake.”

“Princess Cadence said to ask if we needed any help,” said Leaf, who was standing beside him with his front hooves on the balcony railing.

“The only cursebreakers I know of are back at home,” considered Theodore. “There’s the older Weasley boy… No, the Wizengamot fought too hard against sending me here, so they’d never let anybody else in, even if he would talk to me. What untapped resources do we have in Equestria that Princess Pretty Pony can convert to our cause?”

“Granite Peaks’ team had about every experienced cursebreaker and thaumaturgic trap specialist he was able to dredge up,” admitted Leaf. “Since they’re gone, nocreature else is going to step up. Well, if we sent them a bunch of bits, the griffons would find some more volunteers, but I don’t think they’d be very effective. The Diamond Dogs we had fled for home within a day, and Peaks would never agree to have any Minotaurs help.”

“Why?” pressed Theodore immediately.

“I… don’t know,” admitted Leaf. “He was set against the idea when I first arrived and won’t even talk about it.”

It was worth some thought, although without context, it was very little thought indeed. He got up instead, and headed for the suite door. “Let’s go see what Princess Cadence and Prince Amor have to say on the subject. Maybe they can write a few letters for us, find some eccentric minds that Granite passed over. Besides, I’ve always wanted to meet a minotaur.”

“You need to be more careful about what you wish for,” cautioned New Leaf. “The first thing a minotaur will do upon meeting you is to compare how much you can lift. The second will be an attempt at wrestling.” The unicorn gave the wizard a long look up and down, much as if he were estimating how far Theodore would fly when thrown and frowning slightly when Theodore chuckled instead.

“I should introduce one to Hagrid,” he said.

* * *

Care of Magical Creatures seemed to be a bit peculiar to Sweetie’s position as exchange student, much as if Equestria had some sort of Care of Wizards and Witches class with unicorn teachers. Sweetie was trying her best to feel comfortable in her human form, which was a little difficult when the whole class tromped out into the nearby forest, feeling small beneath the towering walls and immense trees. The sound of birdsong and the wind in the leaves far above made her homesick, and a little hyper-focused on looking for strange and dangerous creatures. Like the teacher.

She had seen Hagrid before, and she had kinda-sorta found herself thinking of him as Fluttershy’s bear friend. But he was a professor, and in charge of a very important class for humans. There were a lot of magical creatures in this world, most of which avoided non-magical humans, but wizards had to control the creatures who did not, and protect the creatures who would be wiped out without their assistance. Wycliffe had told her about golden snidgets, and how they had first been cruelly used in a wizard game called quidditch. His home was on the edge of a magical wildlife sanctuary where the skittish birds and several other creatures also made their homes. Greedy wizards and ignorant humans were both quite hazardous to their safety, and there were dozens of small and large natural preserves set aside across all of their country. Some were official, others created by wealthy individuals, and a few made by loose associations of loners and outcasts who generally preferred to keep to themselves, and saw no problem in keeping endangered creatures safe in the process.

Hagrid certainly did not look like an endangered creature. His furry coat was a human kind of coat that came off when he was in the bright sunshine, like this morning. He still had the wizard tendency to odd clothes to cover his bulk, but Sweetie was at a loss to think of any clever combination of dress to make him look more normal, or display his extraordinary height and width in a flattering fashion. He probably could braid his beard, but it looked so tangled and twisted that she had to recall their one time trying to braid Pinkie Pie’s mane.

That had ended poorly. And pink.

The immense professor towered over even the Seventh Year students, but Wycliffe told her that he was part giant, which gave Sweetie a little bit of a hornache when she tried to think about how big a regular giant was, and exactly what the process of bearing offspring would have involved.

“Aright, all ye gotta make a bit of a circle here in the grass an’ be quiet. I gots quite a bit of a treat for you, something I’ll bet non of you’ve seen before. Yes, Mister Nott?”

Wycliffe’s hand had shot up almost immediately as they sat down in the fresh grass, and the small human cleared his throat respectfully. “Professor Hagrid, this creature you’re going to show us. It isn’t dangerous, is it?”

“Oh, we ain’t lost a student in my class ever,” scoffed Hagrid through his beard. “Even yer brother only got bit a bit last year. A week in the hospital wing and he was good as ever.”

“Well…yes…but we are First year students,” said Wycliffe with frequent glances into the nearby dark forest

“Young and tender,” volunteered Sparrow. “What, do you think we’re going to be wrastlin’ alligators?”

“Them’s for the Third Years,” said Hagrid. “An’ they ain’t exactly alligators, since they got six legs and a spiked tail. Now I don’t want you to get all excited over creatures you’re not going to be trusted with until years from now.”

“Whee,” murmured Wycliffe beneath his breath before Jill Wyvern’s hand went up like a shot.

“They’re not spiders, are they?”

“No,” said Hagrid, sounding terribly disappointed. “Maybe later. Yes, Miss Lily?”

Sparrow put down her hand, held up a pamphlet, and asked, “Is it one of these forest creatures from the Ministry’s list?”

That got the professor’s attention. “As a matter of fact, yes. They’re actually critters a lot like the ones in your home. If you’all will remain seated and quiet, I’ll go get them. Remember, no sudden moves or loud noises. They’re quite timid. Rolf, keep an eye on them until I get back.”

With that, Hagrid stood up and walked into the nearby trees, vanishing in seconds other than the rustling and crashing of his passage.

“I’m quite excited at this,” said a sandy-haired Seventh Year boy who had accompanied them to the outdoor class. “Hagrid and I went through a lot of work to get their trust, particularly after what happened last year.”

“You mean with… Voldemort?” asked Sweetie quietly. “I thought he only harmed peoples.”

The slender Seventh Year boy shook his head slowly and spoke with great reluctance, as if he did not talk much. “He destroyed several species which had survived for centuries under wizard protection. Dark wizards have always destroyed or exploited creatures for their own goals. Ever since Grindelwald drove the quilin into extinction, Dark wizards have no problems killing the few and precious, particularly if they can gain some advantage with their deaths. Voldemort disturbed a great number of creatures from their ecological niches, and my grandfather has been trying his best to help them find safety again.”

“Are you going to go help him when you graduate?” asked Lady Rose, a First Year Hufflepuff who had the most magnificent curly blonde mane and a slim face with high cheekbones that made other girls scowl whenever an oblivious boy would walk past them in her direction.

“I have to get high enough N.E.W.T. scores for the Ministry to permit it.” His pale face gained a few worry wrinkles as he glanced up into the forest. “This counts as extra credit. Hagrid was very secretive about what he has prepared, so I can’t tell you.”

“And Headmaster McGonnagal wanted somebody responsible to keep an eye on him,” said Agitha firmly. “That’s obvious.”

Sweetie really wanted to defend Hagrid, but she was fully aware of being ‘kept an eye on’ in far too many ways back in Ponyville. It had always been with good intentions, even if the Cutie Mark Crusaders did not do that much damage. After they got their cutie marks, of course. It did make her appreciate the big professor even more, and she had to wonder if he had a special talent of speaking with animals since this was his job.

Thoughts of inviting Fluttershy to the castle during winter break were interrupted by the rustling of leaves in the forest, and a peculiar sense of mirroring as unicorns began to step out of the concealing shadows. Lots of unicorns.

They were graceful creatures, even if they did not look exactly like Equestrian unicorns. As they continued to emerge individually or in pairs, she could tell they were tall and short, long-legged and relatively stubby, with windswept manes of all lengths, but each and every one of them were terribly nervous, like Sweetie whenever she got out on stage. Several of the unicorns only advanced a few steps into the clearing, and the most adventurous of the bunch barely got her tail into the sunlight. At first, Sweetie thought they were all white, and whispered to Wycliffe, “They look a little like that time my friends all did laundry and mistook the bleach for detergent.”

“Look closer,” whispered Wycliffe back. “They have subtle color gradients when they’re younger, but equalize out when they get older like the herd stallion there.”

The white stallion was far larger than Prince Blueblood, but not nearly as tall as Celestia. He had the same arrogant attitude as Blueblood, and looked down his long nose at all of the First Year students with equal disdain. Well, except for Sparrow, who was holding several carrot sticks in one hand.

“Snuck them out of breakfast,” she whispered to Sweetie. “I thought I might need a snack— Hey! Those are for the unicorns.”

Sweetie gave her a long look. Sparrow corrected herself. “Our unicorns.”

“We want to show them the carrot sticks are not tainted,” said Wycliffe, who picked out a stick for himself and started crunching.

“Well. It doesn’t give them many, but…” Sparrow bit down on a carrot stick of her own, then held the remainder out to the nearby stallion, who leaned ever so slightly forward but still out of reach.

“I guess they’re like cats,” she said, taking a step forward only to have the unicorn stallion step backwards just as far, as well as all of the other unicorns. Several other steps and motions got her no closer. “A little too much like cats, I think.”

“Wait. I’ve got an idea,” said Sweetie, taking off her shoes and putting down her bookbag.

Agatha Volant raised one perfect thin eyebrow. “I’m not certain how witches behave in your horse world, but we do not take our clothes off in the woods here. We’re civilized.”

“I wasn’t going to go naked,” said Sweetie, only to immediately backtrack. “Not in a people way. I want to show them they’ve got nothing to fear from us. Watch.”

There was a familiar swirl of magic and Sweetie was back on normal hooves. It did not seem to relax the human world unicorns one bit, though. The tall stallion gave out a very Blueblood-like shriek, whirled in place with the forest mossy floor scattering in all directions under his frantic hooves, then he bolted into the woods with the rest of the unicorn herd following close behind. In less time than it took Sweetie to blink the bits of mossy dirt out of her eyes, the clearing was empty of unicorns. Well, except her.

“What in tarnation happened!” said Hagrid as he stomped out of the wood. “Just had ‘em calmed down fairly much and they went kiting off into the— Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Professor Hagrid,” said Sweetie, who was still trying to blink some moss out of her eyelashes before she could change back. “It was my fault. I changed, and they must have gotten surprised.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize, young lady. Or filly,” said Hagrid, who looked remarkably distracted, like Rainbow Dash with two plates to snitch toast from. “Uh, you would’nt mind stayin’ like that for a bit, would’ja? On account of the unicorns most probably are miles away by now, and I ain’t really got nothing else to teach. I mean until next year when you get this class for real. Then we’ve got some real fun creatures to work wit.”

“Hagrid,” cautioned the slim Seventh Year student.

“And nothin’ with stingers or poison bites until after mid-year like Headmistress McGonagall said,” continued Hagrid, looking a bit discouraged. “Don’t really understand it. Unicorns are’nt exactly safe either, with that horn and the way the whole herd will turn on you if they’re threatened.”

“Or if you bring too few sugarcubes,” said Wycliffe.

“Exactly! Take a point for Slythern, then. I mean Gryffindor,” he added quickly, shaking his head. “You look too much like your brother at that age. Couple of differen’ peas inna pod. Yes, if you you take sugarcubes into a herd, you better have enough for all of ‘em, an a few extra, just in case.”

The big professor dug around in his heavy clothes and produced a small lump of sugar, which he held out to Sweetie. Briefly.

“Thank you,” said Sweetie while chewing.

“Ain’t used to unicorns who can talk back,” admitted Hagrid with growing enthusiasm. “Powerful magic creatures, they are, and more intelligent than you would think. That’s why they’re so hard to catch. Bunch of unscrupulous wizards are more than happy to hurt them for their own profit. I understand young Mister Nott knows all about that, since he grew up on the edge of a wildlife sanctuary that has unicorns in it.”

“Yes, Professor Hagrid. Although I understand my father never permitted anyone from Hogwarts to visit, and I suspect that same restriction will remain even after he…”

“Dies,” said Sparrow after a far too long moment, which she spent by putting one reassuring hand on Wycliffe’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We got you.”

Hagrid’s large head lowered, and he knelt to bring himself somewhat vaguely down to Wycliffe’s height. “We all lost friends to… I still can’t say his name.”

“Voldemort,” said Wycliffe firmly. “I wish he had stayed dead.”

“He’s dead now, and ain’t coming back.” Hagrid patted Wycliffe on the shoulder, which was probably less reassuring than he wanted because the small boy practically bounced under the impact. “Wizards ain’t much for forgiveness. Dumbledore was. He trusted me back in Hogwarts as Keeper of the Keys and Groundskeeper when all the governors of the school threw a fit. Trusted Lupin and most of the Defense Against Dark Arts professors ‘cept Umbridge, and the less said about her the better. Takes a big man to trust someone who’s gone against you before. Even trusted Snape, and—” He shook his head. “Nevermind. Harry said I shouldn’t speak poorly about him. Let’s get back to something more interesting. Miss Belle, can you show me your hoof, please.”

It was a lot little embarrassing to be used as a classroom example, even outdoors, but the lesson was fascinating as it went on. Sweetie learned a bunch about human unicorns, their lives in the Dark Forest, and how similar they were to her. The colours even meant different things for their herds, which of them held what roles, and that the herd stallion was an elected position, of sorts, which Hagrid did not want to tell much about.

The lesson even gave Sweetie a hint of why she was having trouble keeping her shoes on when changing forms, because one of the Ravenclaw students said she already had shoes, and the changing of forms had to put the shoes somewhere.

The theory sounded sensible, but there was no practical way to test it at the moment since Sweetie was not about to pull out the nails to take her silver shoes off. Maybe at the end of the year when she returned home. The silver-iron shoes with various intricate enchantments were tricky to fit, and she always enjoyed a day or two barehoofed in the summer while Shoeshine made adjustments to her measurements for a new set of shoes. But only for a short time, because bare hooves were softer than solid floors, and tended to crack over time.

They were just getting ready to end the class and head into the castle for lunch when the slender Seventh Year student looked off into the forest and said, “Hagrid, there’s something headed this way. It sounds like a lot of them.”

“A lot of what?” asked Sweetie as she tried to get her left trainer laced. Nobody was paying her any attention, though. A low rumbling shook the ground under her rear, much like George Chuffnell’s stomach right before lunch only louder. Still, she did not want to jump to her human feet and look because the other First Years had taller people between her and whatever was making the noise.

Then a crash of hooves sounded all around them, and centaurs appeared out of the forest with spears and nocked bows. They were huge and terrifying to Sweetie, because all she could think of for a moment was Tirek and his terrifying attack on Ponyville, but they were different in a way too. The thoughts raced through her mind in the moment between one breath and the inevitable scream, which all came to a crashing stop when Sparrow proclaimed “Cool!” at the top of her lungs.

It gave her a moment to think, and since Wycliffe had suddenly grabbed onto one of her hands, her thinking process was not working well at all, but it was a school, so Sweetie thought as much as she was able. At a second glance, these centaurs were far closer to humans than the sole terrifying example Sweetie had seen in Equestria. They did not have horns, or Tirek’s hefty build, and they all could use a good manecut with a few hours in a spa. Some wore clothing, shirts or vests mostly, and not of very good quality, but they all seemed to know Hagrid, and not in a nice way.

“Where is it?” thundered the largest of the centaurs, pointing a spear at Hagrid, even though Sweetie could notice he kept at a respectful distance.

“Where’s what?” shouted Hagrid right back, stepping up directly to the spear’s point.

“Where is the unicorn you have stolen?”

“I ain’t stole no unicorn, Ronan! Ask ‘em,” he added, sweeping one huge hand in the direction of the unicorns hiding behind the ring of centaurs.

“Ahhh, Professor?” said Wycliffe cautiously. “I believe they mean Sweetie Belle.” Wycliffe seemed to notice that he was holding her hand and dropped it like Sweetie had become white-hot, although he stayed right by her side like Sparrow.

“Oh,” said Hagrid gruffly. “Yeah. About that. It’s a bit complicated, Ronan.”

“Show ‘em, Sweetie.” Sparrow held her elbow and helped Sweetie untie her shoes. “It’s really cool.”

At first, Sweetie could not change with so many accusatory eyes staring at her, but after a deep breath and some appreciation for her friends, she let the magic sweep over her again until she could look up at the big centaur from a different point of view.

“See!” declared Sparrow. “So cool.”

Ronan looked perplexed, like he was still angry but did not know who to yell at, much like Trixe did at times. “This is some sort of trick!” he thundered, pointing his spear at Sweetie and raising it…

…before freezing in place.

Every unicorn was pointed at the big centaur, gathered around him in a practical circle of sharp horns, some of which were glowing dimly in the bright sunlight. Even Hagrid had a pinkish umbrella jabbed nearly into Ronan’s bare chest, and a fierce scowl that matched his rough voice.

“Yer not going to threaten my student, are you? There’s all kinds of bad things that’d come of that, and I don’t think the Headmistress would appreciate the Ministry getting involved.”

Ronan backed up a step, careful not to point his spear at Sweetie again. “It’s still a trick,” he rumbled.

“Ain’t no trick here other than her makin’ such a fuss at the Ministry when she arrived,” responded Hagrid while putting his umbrella back under his clothes despite it being larger than where it was being stored. “Professor McGonnagal said you never saw that bunch in such a tizzy, although they didn’t threaten her. Ain’t never had no students from Equestria before, an’ you go scaring her outa a year’s growth.”

“Equestria,” said Ronan like it was some sort of profanity. “Impossible.”

“That word don’t mean much around here.” Hagrid gestured to Sweetie, and she moved up beside him with no small amount of nervousness. “Brought a changeling along with her by accident. Might just make him a history teacher. Had a centaur as a Divination teacher a year or two back, if’n you remember that. Ministry threw a fit over that, too. Worse than when Dumbledore hired me.”

By this point, Ronan looked very much like a pony who had gone out on thin ice, and heard a very unwelcome noise. “I mean it is quite impossible for a unicorn from Equestria to cross the Great Barrier. No unicorn in our history has achieved that impossible feat, save The Bearded One.”

“Three,” said Sweetie. “Well, if you count Princess Celestia and Princess Luna as unicorns.”

“Four,” said Sparrow. “Clover the Clever was on that tapestry, so she must have visited with Starswirl back when the school was built.”

“The Great Barrier has remained unbroken since that time,” insisted Ronan.

“Oh, and Philomena,” said Sweetie. “She’s a phoenix.”

“And my brother is in Equestria, assisting with their conflict against a particularly dark wizard named Sombra,” said Wycliffe quietly. “He’s dead, but still causing them problems. Like Voldemort here.”

“Unproven,” scoffed Ronan, although the rest of the centaurs were exchanging doubtful looks between them, and the unicorns were milling about quietly.

Sparrow pointed at Sweetie. “You need more proof? She has a journal so she can write home. Maybe we can talk one of the princesses into a school visit.”

“You can?” said Hagrid with considerable interest. “That’d be… Well, we should clear it with Headmistress McGonagall first. D’ya think they could bring any creatures with ‘em? Professor Blatt mentioned something about a maulwurf. Sounded pretty interesting, an’ the Seventh Years need something nobody’s seen before to shake them up.”

There was a bump from behind, and Sweetie felt a familiar nuzzle as one of the unicorns barely brushed her nose against her flanks. As if it had been a trigger for several other reluctant unicorns around her, she was quickly inundated with curious noses bumping into her and sniffing. Generally, Sweetie Belle had little experience with such intimate contact. Well, not completely, but nothing she was going to admit to her human friends.

“Stop it,” she said with a giggle. “Mister Ronan, can you get them to stop— No, get out of my saddlebag.”

“They’re after the Necco wafers I gave you at breakfast,” said George Chuffnell. He dug a tube of the candies out of his own robe pocket and started peeling off the little sugar disks, then gave it up as the unicorns began to cluster around him too. He broke the tube of wafers in half and gave some to Sparrow, who began to portion them out to various nosy noses also.

Sweetie lit her horn up and floated the tube of candy up above their reach, trying her best to perform the delicate task of removing the discs one at a time instead of wholesale. It was difficult, because she was clumsy with the unicorn spell after practicing human magic for the last few weeks. “Mister Ronan, can you help me with this?”

She would have gotten Hagrid to assist, except he was handing out little lumps of sugar already, and Ronan did not have anything in his hands but the spear. The centaur took the paper roll of candy discs she floated over reluctantly, and had a look of perplexion that Miss Cheerilee always used to wear on days when class was not going the way she expected. He removed one of the discs, examined it closely, then placed it in his mouth with a scowl.

“They do not seem like poison, but they taste like chalk,” he muttered.

“Crunch ‘em,” said Sweetie, who was fending off a rather enthusiastic unicorn colt about her age and feeling just a bit overwhelmed. Eventually, she just threw the last little colorful candy discs out into the crowd and announced, “And that’s it. Done. Ma’am, please don’t do that,” she added to an older unicorn mare, who had decided that Sweetie’s poofed-up mane needed a good dose of mom-spit to flatten it out. Thankfully, the colt stayed out in the herd, but Sweetie was stuck trying to avoid being groomed for a few minutes while the crowd thinned out or at least until George Chuffnel spoke up.

“As much fun as this is—here you go—we’re going to miss lunch, Professor Hagrid.”

“Aye, can’t miss that,” rumbled Hagrid. “Ronan, you satisfied that our student belongs here, and not out in the forest?”

The puckered expression on Ronan’s face did not change, but the big centaur nodded with one long look at where Sweetie was fending off the mother unicorn and her attempt at grooming. “Yes,” he grumbled.

“You know, if’n you had just asked Firenze,” continued Hagrid, “I’m sure he could’a told you that Sweetie’s visit was written in the stars or sumptin like that. Of course, that’d mean you’d have to apologize for kickin’ him out of your herd.”

“Urk! Excuse me,” managed Sweetie between the mother unicorn’s licks. “Starlight Glimmer said apologizing gets easier with practice, and she’s practiced a lot since she became a teacher at Twilight’s school. Some of the students said Firenze was the best Divination teacher they had, and I’d love to meet him.”

Without saying another word, the big centaur turned and moved into the forest, with the rest of his herd following reluctantly, and the unicorns right behind. Likewise after a few more words, Hagrid gathered the students together and herded them in the direction of the castle and a lunch delayed.

None of them noticed the young centaur at the edge of the forest, watching them leave while holding onto a half-nibbled candy disc in one hand.

19. Ex Owl Post Facto

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Ex Owl Post Facto

“It ain’t safe down here.” Trudging through the crystal mines should have made Gneiss look fierce while protecting his two insane trapbreakers, if he had not been twitching at every unexpected noise during the entire expedition. And with three ponies and one wizard walking on rock-strewn crystal floors, there was far too much noise and jumping for any of their nerves.

“Granite told us to look through the caves,” insisted Theodore, who had not felt so uncomfortable underground since the Carrows had taken a few select students down into the basilisk cavern for a look at the skeleton of Slytherans’ monster. A brief look. At a distance.

A rock fell somewhere far outside of the dim ring of light cast by firefly lanterns and Theodore Nott’s wand. The noise made Shale almost jump out of his armor, bump into his fellow guard, and stand panting in place while looking in all directions at once. “He didn’t say to drag us through them,” growled the terrified guard through clenched teeth.

“You’re supposed to be protecting us in case of any monster attacks,” said Theodore quietly, keeping his ears on the Supersensory Charm he had cast when they had entered the mine. “Shining Armor said you two were the bravest guards in the whole castle. The rest of the guards will see you as an example, and it should stiffen a few spines protecting Their Highnesses. Right?”

Gness gave out a low huff of frustrated breath. “I’m all in favor of leaving and sealing these caverns up, like you did at the Breach.”

“Except,” prompted New Leaf.

After a moment, Gneiss reluctantly continued, “Except there may still be some citizens hiding down here.”

“Maybe,” said Theodore, still keeping his wand at hand. “Have you noticed anything unusual since we came down here?”

“No,” said Shale almost as if he were preparing to bolt for the surface and leave them all behind. “It’s just like the mine was during Sombra’s reign. I spent enough time hiding down here already, and when he dragged the whole empire into shadow…”

Three crystal ponies all shuddering at the same time made a peculiar noise, which felt oddly comfortable to Theodore. He raised his lit wand, lowered it, and swept it across in a wide arc before asking, “What do you not see that you would if I did this outside?”

“Shadows.” New Leaf abruptly began looking around like somebody’s Niffler had gotten loose in Gringotts. “There’s no shadows.”

“Because the crystals are all reflective,” continued Theodore. “Any light bounces around to the point where the shadows vanish. Even a small light will do.”

Gneiss got a better jaw-grip on his lantern and muttered, “Unless the light goes out. I never did understand why so many ponies fled to the mines since Sombra’s helmeted minions controlled the miners but…” He remained silent for a time while they walked. “These shadows you’ve been finding and banishing in the city. You think they’re another kind of Sombra’s minions?”

“Allies,” said Leaf. “Hiding in the shadows where his soldiers dared not go. If anypony tried to hide from him in the city, they walked right into them.”

Theodore nodded. “Except in the mines. Which is why we are here. Mostly.”

“We’ve been walking for hours,” said Leaf, who had not stopped his constant glances in all directions. “Can’t we go back to the surface now?”

“After one more thing.” Theodore raised his wand and announced, “Nox Maxima!”

As night fell, Headmistress McGonagall was just beginning to get the tiniest hope that this year at Hogwarts might actually run through the whole year without a major disaster or worse. Of course, it had only been a few weeks since the memorable Sorting, but when you start with exceedingly low expectations and nothing catches on fire…

Well, except Potions class. If only one of the First Year classes could be conducted through to the end before an explosion, fire, or unexpected transformation, it would be a great relief to Madame Pomfrey also. The experienced healer had begun to sit outside the Potions class in a plain wooden chair with a bag at her side, ready for any inadvertent poisoning, allergic reaction, or detonation that was sure to occur. She even wore the old tin pot helmet her grandmother had been issued in the Great War, chin strap cinched down and the red cross symbol freshly repainted by the three students most likely to be at the center of her weekly efforts.

How Sweetie Belle had managed to flood the entire corridor outside of the Potions classroom with vanilla pudding was still a mystery to all, students and faculty. Thankfully, Madame Pomfrey could swim.

McGonagall had just placed her pointed hat onto the bedstand for a good nightly brushing when she became aware of an addition to the portrait of her great-aunt at the side of the bed. An ebon alicorn with a mane of swirling stars was tucked under Auntie Alis’s elbow, trying her best to evade the old woman’s fingers and look serious despite the beginnings of some intent mane braiding.

“Is something wrong?” asked McGonagall. “Are the students in danger?”

The painted alicorn looked… pensive, at best, but she shook her head as best she could while Auntie Alis braided. The Tantabus licked her lips, placed one hoof on the bridge of her nose, then made some motions outside of the picture frame that resulted in a far smaller dark alicorn popping out of the painting in a rush. The little alicorn bounced off the table, fluttering ineffectually until she landed on the bedroom rug with a thud.

That immobility only lasted a moment before four tiny hooves propelled the Equestrian… whatever she was in the direction of Minerva’s bedroom door and through. It was fairly obvious that the Headmistress was supposed to follow, particularly due to the fact that the portrait now displayed an image of the Owlery, and several people who most certainly did not belong there.

* * *

Professor Sinistra had not even begun to get ready for bed by the time Minerva swept into her quarters in the Astronomy Tower, which was good because otherwise she would have been dragged onward to the Owlery in her unmentionables. The little alicorn who had been guiding her path did not like the detour, and danced like she really needed to use the litter box until both professors were scurrying up the long staircase, wands in hand while in pursuit of a long-vanished tail.

“Ah, Athena and Aurora,” came a smooth voice from the owl-scented darkness once they reached the top of the stairwell. “Be at peace. I mean you no harm. I am a friend, and come seeking a… favor, at the behest of an old friend.”

“Friends don’t break into Hogwarts in the middle of the night,” snapped Minerva with her wand leveled, just like Professor Sinistra at her side. “Show yourself, or else.”

“Of course, Headmistress. Just hear me out before doing anything rash.” The darkness of the Owlery receded slowly, revealing four small students, three familiar, and one not. Well, one Nott and three girls.

“Good evening, Headmistress McGonagall,” said the girl in the middle with a short curtsey. “I am Hennessy Donnachaidh, by adoption. This is my grandfather, Vlad.”

The girl was remarkably unremarkable, with dark brown hair cut short above the shoulders and very dark eyes, even darker than Zenobia Worplesdon. Minerva had her pegged for a Ravenclaw at first glance with the way she handled herself and the stuffed book-bag sitting on the Owlery floor at her side.

The grandfather was a vampire, and just as easily identifiable as such despite the tiny dark alicorn curling up around his feet like an affectionate cat.

“Ladies,” he said with a long, graceful bow to the two professors. “My apologies for the lateness of the hour and the interference with your students, but I come on a matter of great urgency.”

“He wants Hennessy to attend Hogwarts,” chirped Sweetie Belle, instantly shifting from her relaxed and tranquil stare to the normal level of energy that Minerva had learned to dread. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“As long as she doesn’t suck anybody’s blood,” added Sparrow, who shifted emotional states just as quickly.

Vlad seemed as taken back by the sudden change in their behavior as Minerva, and he looked back and forth between students and professor without any words for a moment, although Wycliffe continued his absent stare into nothing. The vampire even looked down at the tiny alicorn playing with the laces on his shoes in search of an explanation which was not immediately forthcoming.

“Were we still supposed to be looking all vacant?” asked Sweetie. “I mean when Wycliffe left the common room he was all vague and stumbling like my sister when she’s sleepwalking into the kitchen for a snack.”

“And I said,” declared Sparrow triumphantly, “that he looked like a vampire had charmed him. And I was right! So we followed him up here.”

“And pretended to be zombies too,” said Sweetie.

By the look on the vampire’s face, he was feeling much like McGonagall at the moment, so she put the misbehaving students to the back of her mind and turned back to Vlad. “We cannot accept a vampire as a student.”

“Understandable.” The tall vampire stood without changing his confident stance a bit as he continued, “Therefore, I see no problem here at all. Tell me, Professor. How would you define a vampire?”

“Ooo!” said Sparrow, waving her hand. “I know! I know!” At McGonagall’s brief nod, the slender First Year rapidly continued, “They’re undead creatures of the negative material plane, so a hit from them can drain two levels, or a bite too, and if you’re drained below first level, you become a vampire spawn under his control. They can turn into a wolf or a big bunch of bats, and they have double the normal amount of treasure for their level. Oh, and they can dominate characters unless they make a will roll. Like Wy failed, obviously.”

By the time Sparrow had finished, Vlad was pinching the bridge of his nose and looking down at the Owlery floor, whether to keep from laughing or crying, it was difficult to tell. “Professor,” he managed after a few breaths, “Is the Defense Against the Dark Arts position still available? Because Hogwarts desperately needs a competent instructor in that regard.”

“These are First Year students,” said McGonagall with a bit of restrained ire. “Vampires are a third year subject, and besides that, the school term has just barely begun. Why did you not bring your… prospective student to my attention earlier?”

It was a bit of a shock for McGonagall to realize she had slipped from a firm ‘No’ in regard to Miss Donnachaidh into a certain consideration of the impossible. Then again, she had a unicorn from another dimension as a student already, and a Death Eater’s son in Gryffindor.

“If Headmaster Dumbledore was still here, most certainly. As it is, I was forced to rely on the most inconsistent sources of information.” Vlad removed a sheaf of newspapers from his prim black suit jacket and leafed through some of the pages until he found the article he was looking for. It featured an extraordinary photograph of Wycliffe’s memorable Sorting, complete with Argus Filch clinging to a ceiling beam in the Great Hall. “The Daily Prophet has been a reliable source in that regard, mostly from what it does not say. There is no mention of Wycliffe Nott here other than in a list of students uncategorized as to their House, for example. And then there is this.”

The tall vampire removed a photograph from inside of his suit coat and released it in McGonagall’s direction, where it floated slowly until it reached her fingertips. The photo was familiar, even though there had not been enough time in the day to get a copy from Dennis Creevey, so she had put off the task until it had blurred into the background. Holding it in her hand and looking at all of the happy Gryffindors waving back made something deep in her heart give out a little twinge of pain, good pain that came with memories of her own Hogwarts class. Witches and wizards long gone except for the imprint they left on the world, one of which was her own job as Headmistress. And then the Order of the Phoenix, which had burned until only a few coals remained.

“If the school can find a place for the son of a Death Eater—” the vampire turned the page to a different article “—if the Ministry of all places can send a Death Eater’s son as emissary to a foreign wizarding country, then perhaps it is time for my Poppy to return to the world where she belongs.”

“I see,” said McGonagall even though she did not. Thankfully, Professor Sinistra asked the question in her stead.

“The world where she belongs?” The dark face of the Astronomy professor creased into an unaccustomed frown. “You mean another dimension, such as Equestria?”

It was the vampire’s turn to be perplexed. “Equestria?”

A short explanation later from the Headmistress and the vampire was even more confused than before. “I had always considered the stories of Starswirl to be legends from the origins of Hogwarts,” he mused. “I may be old, but not that old. And you say this creature is a splinter of the goddess from that world?”

“Goddesses I surmise would be considered mostly inaccurate by them,” said McGonagall. “Still, I would not underestimate the alicorns, or that creature… You know, we still do not have a name for her.”

“The Seventh Years call her Woona,” said a very quiet voice from the staircase behind McGonagall. “She seems to enjoy it. Good evening, Headmistress. Professor.” Luna Lovegood emerged out into the moonlight from her stance in the doorway, wand held absolutely still and pointing at the vampire during every step. “Terribly sorry to interrupt, but Woona left the dormitory in a great hurry, and now she’s tied your visitor’s shoelaces together.”

Two witches, four students of various admittance standards, and one vampire all looked down at once.

“Your Equestrian… witches left a guardian for your school,” said Vlad as his shoelaces untied themselves and returned to their original knots. “She does not seem very impressive.”

That seemed to strike a note of ire in the little alicorn, and she stared up at the vampire with a low growl as the wind began to pick up. At first, McGonagall thought that was the extent of the tiny fragment of Nightmare Moon, but clouds outside of the Owlery began to boil in the sky, and the moonlight spilling in through the wide open windows intensified to a blinding degree.

“Moonlight is merely reflected sunlight,” said Luna calmly. “Perhaps you should move out of the way.”

“Enough!” commanded the vampire. He looked down at the small dark alicorn and added in a much gentler tone of voice, “Please?”

The brilliant moonlight cut off immediately and the clouds outside of the Owlery started a slow return to normal, leaving the vampire to kneel down and take a much closer look at ‘Woona.’

“Size is not an indication of power, as my Hennessy will prove,” he said after a moment. He scratched behind Woona’s ears as she seemed to want, then stood back up. “Appearances can be deceiving. When Tom Riddle first began his ill-advised venture several decades ago, he used his power to… influence several of my less-trustworthy peers.”

“I thought vampires were all kinds of powerful,” said Sparrow. “They’ve got like two pages in the manual.”

“In some regards, yes. In most regards, most certainly no.” Vlad reached out with a thin and pale hand, rested it on the young girl’s shoulder, and smiled when Hennessy patted it gently. “Riddle forced many creatures to do his will, some more willingly than others. Henny’s parents were slain by one of the more loathsome of the lot, and he expected me to finish the distasteful job. Instead, I swept her away, hid her from the conflict, and attempted my best to restore her from both of their corrupted grasps. Unfortunately, I was unable to break her curse until they both died for good this time. There are a few remnants of the curse remaining, but nothing serious, and I expect her to grow into whatever remains as she continues her education with her own kind.”

“Remnants,” said McGonagall flatly, although she lowered her wand slightly. “Be specific.”

“Nothing serious, as I said. An aversion to blood of any kind, thankfully. Perhaps a flair for the dramatic. An attitude, which is understandable. Her age has begun to progress again, which is a blessing if you have ever lived with a young ward for several decades. Other than those few things, she is as much a witch ready for an education as she was the day before she was cursed.”

He reached inside his dinner jacket again and produced several documents, which floated on their own over to the headmistress. “She can not be enrolled under her birth name, quite obviously. The Ministry would throw a fit, and the Daily Prophet would be overjoyed to smear both the school and herself.”

“Hennessy Donne,” read McGonagall by the light of her wand. “From Romania, of course. Why not enroll her in Durmstrang?”

“You mean, why Hogwarts?” said Vlad smoothly. “Once again, I must pass the blame onto the departed. To be brief, Headmaster Dumbledore made me promise. I swear, it sounded like he intended on holding your post until he was older than myself.”

“One thing upon which we can agree,” murmured McGonagall under her breath as she leafed through the documents. “Her books and things?”

“Already passed to the house elves,” said Vlad. “They’ve alerted Madame Pomfrey so my ward can stay this evening in the hospital ward for observation, as I’m certain you would require. The paper—” he tapped his copy of the Daily Prophet “—says that several new students who were unable to arrive in time for the first day of class will be Sorted tomorrow, correct?”

“Correct.” McGonagall put the papers back in order and gave the vampire a long look. She wanted to ask how she was to contact Vlad in case of whatever, but there was a pale brownish bat the size of a terrier hanging upside-down from the bottom of a nearby owl’s cage, which made the question moot. “Miss Lovegood, please take our new prospective student to the hospital wing for observation this evening. And Mister Nott, who looks like he could use a bracing tonic or two.”

She turned slightly to look at Sweetie and Sparrow, who took their unspoken cue to support Wycliffe on his unsteady way to medical treatment, following behind the Ravenclaw Head Girl like obedient puppies. She expected Vlad to be gone when she returned her attention to him, but he remained in the same moonlit spot, just as impassive but perceptably more relaxed. It was probably because he had given in to the Dark Force of Cuteness and had picked up Woona for a good ear-scratching.

“Thank you, Headmistress. Clan Donnachaidh owes you a great debt.”

“One problem, one objection from the Ministry—” started McGonagall, only to be interrupted by a raised pale hand.

“I will use every bit of my mundane influence to calm the worries of the Ministry, without the use of any magic, of course. Other than a few minor bribes or investments. I am just relieved that my precious Poppy has a safe place during these dangerous times.”

“Safe is relative, I suppose.” McGonagall shook her head and put away her wand. “At least one parent in the world considers inside this place to be more safe than outside.”

“Oh, it is, Headmistress. Your errant student, Mister Riddle, did not merely make a power vacuum in the wizarding world. As your world went on, vast dark forces have been set against each other in a disturbance of equilibrium that had been in place for centuries, like a huge clock made of glass and tense springs.”

“And one mad wizard wandering around inside with a hammer,” said McGonagall. “Is it really that dangerous for you? It’s been—” McGonagall counted briefly. “Good heavens. She’s old enough to have her grandchildren attending Hogwarts.”

“Regardless, it is time for her to move on from my care. The world has become far more dangerous than your school,” said Vlad. “The known is always less dangerous than the unknown, and there are things which no living creature has encountered let loose upon the world again.” A faint smile emerged onto Vlad’s pale face. “And they all fear the young man who destroyed Voldemort twice. The man who came from this school. That you trained. You are a dangerous woman in their eyes, She Who Was Named From Athena, Daughter of Zeus. Guard them all well from danger.”

Nox should have extinguished all lights within the near vicinity, leaving the crystal mines around them completely engulfed in darkness.

Except there was a dim glow to one side, as Theodore had begun to expect.

“Come out,” he commanded sternly with his wand leveled. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

To his shock, New Leaf stepped in front of his wand, a flickering silhouette in the darkness. “No,” he said quietly. “They’re afraid. Threats will only drive them further into the mines. You don’t have to come out if you want to stay hidden. We’ll leave what food and water we have for you.”

“Sombra,” came a raspy voice from out in the darkness. “Dead?”

“Absolutely.” New Leaf began to take bottles and packages out of his saddlebags and put them on the ground. “Dead and gone. We’re destroying his traps and laboratories, one at a time, until every scrap of his influence is gone forever. The ponies in the city are still just as frightened as you.”

“Doubtful.”

New Leaf’s laugh was bitter and brief. “You should have seen this human when he saved Shining Armor. We were both terrified, but he didn’t hesitate a moment. Now the mares around the city look at my human friend like he’s Shining Armor’s weird younger brother. I swear, some of them want him as a mate.”

That triggered a laugh, a strange yipping-like bark of irony that was echoed in several pony-like giggles.

“Have seen Armor Shining. That not him. Know Sombra dead. Pups still fear.”

Theodore’s eyes had adjusted enough to make out the vague dog-like shape at the center of the faint glow of a firefly lantern, and several small pony foal silhouettes around it. “Kids,” he murmured. “Trapped down here.”

“Not trapped. Want stay with me. Protect them. Found when Granite lost crew. Not leave.”

“You’re one of Granite’s crew?” The Supersensory Charm helped Theodore see better in the dark, but the larger shape did not look much like a pony. “You’re protecting these foals?”

“Yes. Safe here. No shadows.”

“Children need the light.” Theodore took a deep breath, filled with dust and stale air. “We learned that in our school. Terrible things attacked the children there, but the teachers protected us as we grew up. They taught us to take our fears and use them as weapons against those who wanted to harm us. A shield to protect, and a wand to strike. Bring them with us into the city and I promise, I will protect them like the teachers protected our school.”

Generally poorly, with significant losses, and occasional successes.

“We should go,” said New Leaf, his horn lit with a dim light that barely illuminated their small group. “They’re not going to leave.”

“Yes, they are.” The odd shape moved forward, urging several small foals in front of it. “You are good talker. The pups fear. They should learn from one who had eaten fear. Come, small ones. Let us see the light of your city again. You will be afraid, but eat it like this brave one. It will make you strong. Like him.”

The absolutely last thing Theodore expected was for the larger shape to be vaguely dog-like, dressed in a few cloth rags and walking mostly on its back paws, or her paws, as he realized when he saw the line of shriveled dugs tracking down both sides of her chest. A lifetime of wizard habits had him removing his cloak and turning his back, transforming it into as close to a shirt-vest-cover-thing as his lessons could manage, then handing it nearly backwards to the dog-creature as she drew near.

“Magic,” breathed one of the little foals, who he could see was a unicorn now that it was closer.

“Young unicorns were afraid of using their magic when… he ruled,” whispered New Leaf. It shook Theodore somewhere deep inside, and he lowered himself to one knee.

“The young should never be afraid to use their gifts,” he said to the cringing reddish foal, whose pale pink horn stuck almost comically out of its tangled mane. While still not looking at the dog, he reached out, slowly as not to spook the child, and unwound a few matted strands of its mane. “In our world, it is a terrible crime to stop a young wizard from using their magic. It can hurt them in ways far more terrible than children should hear.”

“Dogs know pups should dig,” said the dog-creature. “Keep paws strong. Grow. Like flowers.”

There was relative quiet while the odd group began to pick their way back out of the crystal mines, following Gneiss and his knowledge of the various paths. The pony children were almost mute, clustering around the dog to the point where Theodore had problems counting them. It was only when they reached the outside and the late afternoon sunshine that he could tell there were only eight of them, six which were unicorns.

The dog was holding one paw over her eyes and blinking vigorously, which made Theodore conjure a second pair of sunglasses for her. “Here,” he said. “This will help, Miss… I didn’t get your name.”

“Not have real name since left pack.” The dog put on the glasses with a bit of fumbling and looked around, still half-hunched over and looking even worse in the light where the mange and tangled coat was visible. “Have only called word.”

She said the word.

It was a rather impolite word, although accurate for a female dog. Still, he could not in good faith use it on a brave creature who displayed such loyalty to children not even of her own kind, and it tripped a deep memory of his own. Of eyes he could barely remember, and a gentle voice reading a bedtime story. His father disapproved, since it was from a very muggle author, but it had pirates and redskins, flying children and impossible adventures, and it held him entranced for many nights when he should have been going to sleep.

“Naa,” he drawled. “Can’t call you that, Mum.”

“Not mum. Diamond Dog not have name like that,” she said with flattened ears and looking away.

“Actually, may we call you Nana? It’s a… respected name for somebody in your position.” Theodore carefully mouthed the word to the tiny ponies trailing along with them and nodded vigorously until they caught on.

“Nana,” said the red-headed unicorn foal, quickly followed by the rest of his tiny peers. “Nana, Nana.”

“I think it is a far better name than… that one,” he replied with a quick nod and smile to his diminutive co-conspirators. “Let’s get the children to Princess Cadence before you try to argue any more, Mum.”

“A mum is also a flower, like you said,” volunteered New Leaf, who seemed a little confused by the name-switching. “You were working for Granite Peaks before the… event. Would you like to work with us again? It would protect the foals outside of the mines.”

There was no real response, even after they met in a blur with the perky pink Princess Cadence and saw the children off to rediscovered parents or caregivers. It was an intensely busy time with ponies coming and going, and he had lost track of the question until he walked back into the workroom where the Sombra-clearing project planning was in full messy array.

“Is much progress,” said the dog, looking at the string-covered map. “How many more dead?”

“None,” said Theodore. “Granite Peaks’ crew was the last, and they’re still in some sort of magical stasis. We’re fairly sure they’re alive, but we have no idea how to get them back out.”

“Huh.” The dog reached for one of the scrolls Theodore had isolated, and cringed back when Theodore grabbed her wrist before she could touch it. Nana’s coat was softer than he expected, with most of the tangled fur licked smooth, and had enough strength in the muscles under that warm coat to throw Theodore across the room if she had wanted. She was far more different than the crup dog Theodore had wanted as a child, and with those muscles, could be far more dangerous.

“There’s…something on that particular scroll. Not quite sure what, but…”

The dog-creature snorted and pawed at her face, much like Theodore found himself doing when sleep had been eluding him for several days. “Like trap on parchment. Warned Granite about passage. Also trap. All trap. Traps have traps.”

“Wait a minute. The passage where the trapbreakers got caught is just a trap? No way through?” Theodore grabbed his set of maps. “Soundings say there are more passages beyond it.”

“Not through it,” said the dog.

Although he wanted to object, it made sense. The cage trap in the castle had been designed to catch people… that is ponies attempting to evade fixed defenses. There were only so many paths which concealed an invader from unwanted observation, but in the passages beneath the castle grounds, an invader would be seeking the tyrant’s weakness, breaking in doors, searching libraries, attempting to free prisoners. It brought an arctic chill up his spine to think of some brave Gryffindor pressing forward in a doomed attempt to do all the classic hero-actions and getting sliced and diced in return, as well as any poor sucker who accompanied the fool.

Textbook heroes in the Crystal Empire would have a very short book. Perhaps a pamphlet.

Granite Peaks and his crew had been progressing in a heroic straightforward manner, burning out the protective runes, breaking down barriers, pressing forward to the cheese in the trap without regard that Sombra would have visited his laboratory without any burning, breaking, or pressing. It was a very Slytherin way of thinking that Theodore had recently neglected, and worse, it was exactly why he had been selected for this task.

“Nana,” he started rather distractedly, “you worked with Granite before. What would it take to keep you here as part of our crew? We need your expertise.”

Theodore finished unrolling the map and pinned it down on the table with several empty potion bottles while Nana hesitated, almost as if she were going to dash away in fear. She pawed once at the map, looking back and forth while breathing in short pants. Finally, she took a deep breath and shook her head vigorously, making her floppy ears flap about.

“No. Not good. Got others trapped. Why me?”

“Because Granite Peaks did not listen to you. It’s mostly his fault the crew was trapped. I will listen to you, and quite obviously you listen to me. That’s a rare quality where I come from. Also, the kids trusted you. How many weeks did you stay with them when you could have returned to the city? Eating mushrooms and lizards. Staying in the dark.”

During their brief stop at the castle, Princess Cadence had found more clothes for the Diamond Dog somewhere, and Nana touched the sunglasses she had tucked into one of a multitude of pockets. “Dark good for dog. Too much light bad. Sneak out at night. Gather pony food. Some ponies leave food at mine. They hope. Many hope too much.”

“There are… dead ponies in the mine,” said Leaf in what was certainly not a question.

“Yes.” The dog sniffled and wiped her nose on the baggy red vest, making Theodore determined to find her a sizable kerchief. “Old ponies come to mines. Take them out. Grieve. Howl in pony way. Return again. Leave food for pups. Written words. Pups afraid of ponies. Stay. You not pony. Eat fear. Not much afraid. Leave with you. Brave.”

“Nana, I assure you that I am just as afraid of the things Sombra left behind as any of them,” said Theodore in an unexpected burst of honesty. “I learned to use that fear, which is why I’m here. With your help, we have a better chance at making life safe for those foals.”

“Hmm. Is difficult.” The dog took out the sunglasses Theodore had conjured and ran them through her short, blunt fingers with practiced ease. “You know of magic well. Make these. Smart.”

“Smart in some ways,” said New Leaf, who seemed to be angling his body to stay as much between the Diamond Dog and Theodore as possible. “Dumb as a brick in others. He needs a keeper.”

“Mmmm,” said Nana as she put the sunglasses away and looked over the map. “Stay for a while. Until you no need. Then go.”

“Thank you, Nana,” said Theodore. “We’ve got a long job in front of us.”

“Very long,” agreed Nana. “Probably kill us.”

1. Sending Day

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Sending Day

Uncounted mages, wizards, warlocks, dragons, druids, illusionists, necromancers and such swear that they know how to control magic, bend it to their will, and force it to do what they wanted.

They’re all wrong.

Only a few of the most powerful know the truth.

Magic just appreciates the attention.

Oh, there are rules where if a practitioner of the art were to wriggle his eyebrows just right while putting a pedal extremity forth and speaking a certain phrase, magic will bring a fire into being, but then again, the same practitioner will happily open a container of food for their pet when subjected to a plaintive ‘meow’ and nose-rub while not seeing the parallel at all.

It was a blind spot which most wizards were (of course) blind about, particularly the type of wizard who attempted to reach for unattainable power by warping and twisting magic into painful shapes which it did not like.

However…

Even the most insane wizard has certain lines they will not cross, crypts they will not open, or spells they keep locked away, not only against their multitudinous enemies, but against any allies they might have also. Remember, they are not the only creatures in the world who desire power, and one universal truth of the power-mad is a reluctance to share.

And a second truth is: once they are gone, what they have locked away remains.

This is why when heroes arise to battle the forces of darkness and cast them down into destruction, they should be very careful afterward instead of celebrating their victory. Sometimes, what lies in wait for them is worse than what they just defeated.

After all, the deeper darkness is very patient.

And hungry.

- Ω - -

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had been tattered and battered over its thousand years of existence, with generation after generation of alumni adding to the enchantments that layered its walls and protected the students inside. The end result of Lord Voldemort’s destruction a few months ago had been an enormous reshuffling of the ancient protective wards, both from the destruction rained down on the castle during the assault and the vigorous rebuilding afterwards. Every living wizard and witch who had ever walked its halls wanted to return, some merely to be comforted at the final death of the Dark wizard who had terrified them all for so long, others simply to help.

Regardless of their talent or ability, the school welcomed all of their assistance, and in the end, even the most stubborn members of the school council determined that Hogwarts was as well-defended as ever. Even a budding student of magic knows better than to mix two small spells for fear of them interacting in an explosive fashion, but these far wiser and older heads had no problem layering enchantments of vast complexity against the older spells until not even the wisest or most senile of their lot could make heads or tails out of the result.

Once the dust had settled and the final enchantments laid against the foundations, Headmistress McGonagall returned to work with all the confidence of a fireworks saleslady in the middle of a raging forest fire.

Despite her age and experience, she did not understand just why Hogwarts had not gone up in a whoosh of flame before the reconstruction was all over, but of course, one does not need to understand something to influence it, or the race of mankind would have died out centuries ago when confronted by the race of womankind. Sometimes, all that was needed was a little compassion, a few flowers planted along the southern beds, and long hours spent listening to the creaks and groans of the ancient structure while nodding on occasion. It was something which McGonagall had already puzzled over for every year she had been a teacher at Hogwarts, and becoming a Head of House had not enlightened her any more. Now that she had gained the title of Headmistress — which included a patched pointed hat which would have constantly fallen down over her eyes if she had dared to wear it — she was just as much in the dark as ever.

What was worse, the whistle of wind through the ancient structure and the pops of thermal expansion and contraction were starting to make sense, but only when she was focusing her attention on other school-related tasks, such as sending letters.

“Wyvern, Jill.” After the short list of names, a reluctant silence settled into the headmaster’s office, mostly muted due to the various whirling or burbling pieces of wizardly knick-knacks and oddments which the current Headmistress had not seen fit to remove, and which provided an uncomfortable reminder of the fate of the last two headmasters.

Most of their portraits remained silent with the elderly witches and wizards dozing in their chairs, but Dumbledore’s picture frame remained stubbornly empty, most likely as a sign that she should trust in her own instincts instead of consulting what he would call ‘an old fool who has already made enough mistakes for two lifetimes.’ Despite her best efforts, her eyes traced to one side where there was an empty spot that Minerva McGonagall had determined would never hold Headmaster Snape’s portrait as long as she drew breath. Someday whatever small fraction of her spirit was left behind would reside in her own portrait on that wall, and having Snape glowering at her elbow through the rest of her afterlife was not anything she really wished to contemplate in this tense time.

The Heads of Houses had gathered to oversee the task of sending out Letters for the next school year, just the four of them around the hulking oak monstrosity of a desk that even Dumbledore had cursed over when a sticky drawer refused to budge. The human companionship was needed for all of them, far more than ever. They never could have gotten through this one simple task without each other’s assistance, although one other thing was on all of their minds.

Voldemort is dead. What now?

It was the question she saw in all three of their tense faces, from Flitwick who had taken to cultivating the arrangement of his mustache and toupee one hair at a time to Pomona Sprout’s packages of Fitwell’s Fading Fudge which she constantly tried to press upon all of her fellow teachers. Even Horace Slughorn had developed a faint redness to his nose and reeked of firewhisky at the most inappropriate times of the morning.

“So,” said Slughorn. “That’s it, I suppose. Twenty students in the whole First Year class at most, and I doubt if two or three will be Slytherin. That is if any of them actually show up.”

“You can’t really blame the parents,” said Professor Sprout, who had silently twisted one of the fudge wrappers into a foil flower while listening to the short names being read off.

“They blame us, or at least some of them do.” Minerva raised her wand and let the desk do most of the work, duplicating the introductory letter and list of requirements for each of the young wizards or witches who would attend Hogwarts for their first time in a few weeks. “I can’t say I blame them for it one bit. It’s human nature, after all. I doubt if the Wizengamot has half of the same members as I saw just last year, what with all of the resignations and accusations.”

“And deaths,” said Flitwick, in a most unexpectedly grim tone for his squeaky voice. “The goblins are restless, for starters, and a number of the forces who defied Voldemort to assist our side are quietly chafing at what they see as an inadequate amount of appreciation for their sacrifice. Remember Dobby.”

He paused and placed his wand on the old desk with the faintest click of ancient wood against wood. “A house elf died to save Harry Potter. Very little has been said about what happened at Malfoy Manor, but a house elf attacked a wizard and took his wand, that much is certain. Without that willing sacrifice, The Boy Who Lived would have died.”

“There were many sacrifices in these past dark days.” Professor Slughorn’s voice was strained, nearly trembling. “So many of us.”

“Not only wizards and witches.” Flitwick stretched out one long-fingered hand, a legacy of his goblin ancestry, and tapped the handle of his wand. “Dobby’s death brought repercussions nobody expected. The timid house elves of Hogwarts rallied to its defense, raising arms against the attackers and shedding wizard blood in the process. All of the major wizarding Houses have house elves. Every one of them. What would become of our world if they decided to pick up wands to shape it, instead of being shaped by it? All of the wizarding world could be shaken to its foundations.”

The old professor’s lips grew thin. “Worse, or better in some regards, is the way other forces reacted to Dobby’s death. Dark wizards have fled to places they considered to be relatively safe, only to be found slain in the most gruesome of fashions. I understand why the students are afraid. They are not alone.”

“It’s not just the new students who are reluctant.” Professor McGonagall took a different stack of letters off the sideboard of the desk and placed them on the table between them. “So many of the older children need time to recover, to grieve for their losses, or try to forget. I’ve gotten no end of letters from some of our best and brightest students. The young may recover faster from loss, but this violence in the heart of what they thought to be a safe harbor strikes right at their hearts. The main hall will be so empty.”

Professor Sprout placed her folded foil flower on top of the pile, where it took root and began to bloom. “As long as a single student wishes to return to Hogwarts, I’ll be here to teach them. Remember what Dumbledore said. While we may come from different places and speak different tongues, our hearts beat as one. That unity is threatened if we retreat, if the families of wizards across the land turn inward to hide instead of joining together. Minerva, I know you’ve talked about sending the students to other schools, but where would you send them? Durmstrang? They’re in a worse tizzy than anywhere else with the loss of their Headmaster. Beauxbatons might take them, particularly if Hagrid were to do the asking, but they’d be isolated, never accepted as fellow students. And Ilvermorny?” Professor Sprout rolled her eyes. “They’d be dressing in breach-clothes and running half naked around the forest.”

“The Americans are not that bad, Pomona,” scolded Professor McGonagall mildly. “Besides, it would only be for a year while we…”

She trailed off, absently looking up at where Fawkes was quietly preening. There had been almost a noise of some sort, a settling of stones deep in the castle structure that caused a light breeze to blow in from the open window, and a voice that might have said something she could have understood if she were a building too.

“While the school crumbles, and the wizarding world becomes more disjointed,” said Flitwick. “The World Quidditch Cup has been cancelled and reinstated so many times until I’m not sure even Kingsley Shacklebolt is going to be able to bring it off. It will not be any easier to open the school after a year, or two, or even three. Hogwarts lives because wizards are united, despite our differences. Wizards from all over the world have learned far more than simple spells and charms here. They have learned to compete against each other while working together, purebloods and the lowest of muggleborn in concert. They may squabble and fight just like our founders, but they form unbreakable bonds that surpass any mortal expectation. Send the children away and there is no reason for the school to exist at all.”

Professor Slughorn plucked a piece of fudge from the open box and began opening the foil wrapper. “Well, there’s one student I wouldn’t mind sending away. It’s always the quiet ones with the best scores who are the most dangerous. You can’t tell what they’re thinking, and when they’re in my house, that’s never good. He’s coming back this year to finish up his N.E.W.T. examinations and heavens only knows what else he’s up to.”

“Several of the students who otherwise would have graduated are returning for their exams and to provide assistance,” said Professor McGonagall, flicking her wand to lay out a number of letters on the table. “You should be grateful. They will provide a semblance of order among the other students.”

“Or a bunch of Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs dropped into the fireworks box,” countered Professor Slughorn before popping the chunk of fudge into his mouth and chewing with a very dissatisfied expression.

The rustling of envelope stuffing at the table stopped and Headmaster McGonagall picked up the stack of addressed letters, ready to be delivered to the Owlery and out to the students. That is all of the letters except for one addressed to a First Year, which had not found an envelope.

“Strange,” said Flitwick as he reached for the letter, only to pull his hand back and give a short nod to the headmistress. McGonagall scooped up the letter instead, giving it a short perusal and stopping at the name.

“Sweetie Belle? It’s spelled differently than Katie, so it could be a different family.” She passed the letter around the circle of teachers for each of them to examine, but all of them were just as baffled.

“The castle magic has never sent an incorrect letter,” said Flitwick. “Ever. Not since the founding of the school. Rowena Ravenclaw would never stand for it.”

They were all still puzzling over the errant acceptance letter when there was a flare of light and heat, then suddenly there were two phoenix sitting on Fawkes’ perch, one of which was slightly smaller and more colorful than the other. They exchanged a series of calls and clicking beaks, rubbed their necks together, then began to chirp and click back and forth like two old women who had not seen each other in weeks catching up on gossip.

“Oh, bloody hell,” said Slughorn. “There’s two of them now.”

Flitwick picked up his wand and gave it a flick, causing an unnoticed letter to swoop up into the air from under the perch and land on the table in front of McGonagall, although all four teachers gave it a long and slightly disconcerted stare.

To: Headmaster, Hogwarts School for Witches and Wizards. Most urgent.

“I still feel like I’m reading somebody else’s mail,” muttered McGonagall while using her wand to open the envelope and remove the letter, keeping the rest of her comments to herself. There were quite a few sheets of thick paper inside, and as she finished one, she passed it along to the next head of house, until they all were engrossed in the reading.

“Preposterous,” scoffed Slughorn. “Most probably a prank from that Weasley fellow.”

“Doubtful,” said Professor McGonagall. She floated over a quill and settled down at the desk to write a response, under the assumption that the new phoenix ‘Philomena’ could be coaxed into returning a letter, if bribed with one of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes candies that Fawkes found so tasty. “If not, we may have found a solution for your Mister Nott. How would you feel about an exchange student in your classes.”

Slughorn merely frowned and grumbled. “In exchange for what kind scheming, plotting, conniving weasel?”

- Ω - -

One month later

“I still can’t believe it, Sweetie!”

Three young ponies danced around the room, their clattering hooves on the crystal floor making a racket loud enough to nearly overwhelm their exuberant voices. It was the last time they would be together for a while, and the Cutie Mark Crusaders (with marks) were making the best of it. They had eagerly cheered and chattered around Ponyville when Sweetie found out about her new scholarship, thrilled at the party Pinkie Pie put on for her, talked all the way to the Crystal Empire on the train and most of last night during the sleepover, and had just a few minutes before Sweetie was scheduled to leave on her strange new adventure.

“A whole year! You get to help ponies from another whole world with their cutie mark problems for a year!”

“Girls!” trilled Rarity, taking a quick peek into the room from the hallway. “Do try to control yourselves. Twilight and Princess Celestia are getting the mirror set up now, so you only have a few more minutes to…” Rarity’s nose trembled and a thin trail of tears added to the smears tracking down her smudged mascara. “I’m fine,” she asserted with a tremor in her voice. “Princess Celestia says you will be back for Hearth’s Warming, and—” there was a quiet sniff that certainly would be denied “—I can wait that long.”

Apple Bloom and Scootaloo exchanged looks, then gave Sweetie Belle a hard push in the flank that bumped her into Rarity and a subsequent crushing hug between both unicorn sisters.

“We’ve got this.” Scootaloo held up a book and waved it around. “Twilight says this book is just like the one she exchanged with Sunset Shimmer. We can write every day and tell you all about our cutie mark projects and you can do the same.”

“Yeah!” cheered Apple Bloom. “It’ll be just like you’re around the corner, and Philomena can carry packages back and forth if’n you need some fresh apples or anything.”

After wiping away some more not-tears, Rarity suppressed the quaver in her voice enough to ask, “Are you sure you don’t need any more luggage? Or a few more gemstones? I mean only one saddlebag for an entire year? What if they wear clothes where you’re going? I could send—”

“You already tried to get me to take luggage,” said Sweetie. “The chariot couldn’t get off the ground, remember? Besides, Celestia said all I need is a few gems to buy personal stuff while at school.”

“Yeah!” said Scootaloo, punching the air with one hoof. “You’re even getting a ship.”

“Ah don’t think that’s what a scholarship is,” said Apple Bloom.

6. Formal Dining

Sweetie Belle - Hogwarts Exchange Student
Formal Dining

The Crystal Empire was not only brilliant above ground, but Theodore was beginning to think the sunlight reflected into even the deepest of tunnels. During their trip to meet Theodore’s new instructor, ‘New Leaf’ had led him down through the castle corridors with enough wrong turns to make Theodore slightly more comfortable treating the unicorn as a fellow student and a little less concerned that he was being led into an ambush. Theodore had cast a quick tracking charm before they left his new quarters, so he would be able to find his way back out of even the most twisted of mazes, but Leaf was obviously spooked in the crystalline tunnels, and that case of the fidgets was rubbing off.

“So, why do you think Granite is down here?” he asked as the two of them squeezed past another ‘Tunnel Closed - Unsafe’ sign. The clicks of their combined hoof/footfalls echoed around the cold, hard walls as if there were a dozen or more in their small group, which eventually made Theodore draw his wand and hold it casually while they walked.

“Granite and his team cleared out a few of his… ‘laboratories’ over the last year,” started Leaf with considerable reluctance and many hollow echoes from the corridor walls. “This is supposedly the biggest one, since it is just outside the castle perimeter, and there’s only one tunnel into it. We’re passing through the remains of the outer wards they burned in order to access the area now.”

The unicorn stopped at a smudged wall and lit up his horn, scanning the light across the translucent crystal until a series of blackened runes floated into sight a few inches below their surfaces.

“Luminous Maxima.” The beam of light from Theodore’s wand was much brighter, and swept down the corridor like a searchlight, showing charred and burnt runes every few paces as they continued to walk in relative silence. After several turns, they saw a pool of silvery hornlight far ahead, surrounding a stocky unicorn who could have been mistaken for a lump of grey granite topped with snow if not for the fierce frown on his face when he looked back up the corridor.

“Oh, it’s the nameless coward,” grumbled Granite in a gravelly voice that closely resembled his appearance. “And you brought Celestia’s monkey.”

“Theodore Nott,” said Theodore with a short nod. “And this is New Leaf, now. I presume you are Mister… I mean Granite Peaks?”

“Yeah.” The heavyset unicorn turned his back on Theodore and looked down the corridor again. “So, you got any kind of magic that’ll get my crew back so I don’t have to struggle along with you two losers?”

“Beg pardon?” said Theodore, but the heavy unicorn did not say anything else while staring down the empty corridor.

New Leaf coughed quietly, which echoed like a hospital asthmatic ward around them. “Two months ago, the primary cleaning crew headed down this corridor. When they did not check in on time, the secondary crew went in to find out what happened. Neither crew has been seen since. Thirty-two unicorns and griffons vanished without a trace.”

Theodore took a step backwards while observing the corridor with newfound respect.

“You’re the genius that Celestia said’d be able to fix this,” said Granite in a rough whisper. “What would you do that we haven’t?”

“Flood this corridor with lava and drill into whatever chamber you’re trying to access from another side,” said Theodore automatically.

“Nearly lost two drilling crews trying that,” said Granite. “And we ain’t flooding this chamber with nothing until we know if my crew’s alive or dead. Watch.”

The silver light coming from the older unicorn’s horn shifted into a darker green hue while Granite struggled, bending his head down and breathing in short pants. In moments, the view of the corridor shifted in much the same way, becoming dark and greenish along the whole length.

And something else.

Vague shapes danced and drifted in the darkness, with hooves and horns and wings and beaks, swirling around as if they were mere tissue paper in a stiff breeze. They darted through walls and across the open space regardless of the impossibility, a chorus and ballet of shadow that tugged at his heartstrings while standing flat-footed in the indistinct crystal corridors. The sight was both enticing and terrifying, and for just a tiny fraction of a second, Theodore felt himself being pulled forward into that spectral nothingness.

Then New Leaf bit him on the arm and pulled back, shaking Theodore out of his trance. The sickening green glow spluttered away from Granite’s horn and for a moment, the only source of light was the dim glow of distant daylight coming from behind him, or at least until Theodore lit his wand again and held it over the three of them.

“Well?” asked Granite once they had all caught their collective breaths. “I’m at the end of my wits here, so I’m even willing to listen to monkeys.”

“I… think this will require considerably more research,” said Theodore. “I’ll need to look at all of your reports, check out the wards and traps you’ve already discovered and disarmed, and—” he took a deep breath, tasting the dusty air with the faintest hint of a different scent wafting in his direction “—until then, seal the corridor without flooding it, so we can come back more prepared.”

A series of his wand motions conjured an opaque crystal wall across the corridor, cutting off the faint breeze and allowing Theodore to head out of the corridor maze without feeling as if something dark and scabrous was creeping up behind him.

Granite let out a low grunt, but fell into step beside the lanky human while they headed back upstairs. “You know, you’re not as dumb as I thought. That was pretty fair spellwork. Well, I’ve done all I can, so it’s your call now. What were you planning on doing first?”

“Dinner, because we’ve been invited by the rulers of this land,” said Theodore. “And some thinking time afterward.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to get the work crews out? Do you think they’re still alive?” New Leaf strode next to Theodore's other side, much like he was sheltering under a tall tree while a storm blew in.

The Slytherin in him was tempted to lie and offer candied assurances, but Theodore focused on his empty stomach and shook his head while walking. “We’ll see.”

In hindsight, Theodore Nott would have much rather faced a whole series of N.E.W.T. testing at Hogwarts under the tutelage of Lord Voldemort.

- Ω - -

Sweetie Belle was starting to really like the human world, particularly the food. Humans ate many of the things ponies ate, but they also ate the most amazing things like rumbledethumps, spotted dick, blood pudding, and sandwiches made with prawns and mayo. Dinner had all of those things and more, with sugary crumbles and turnovers piled high on plates, and all sorts of vegetables smothered under brown gravy until she could not eat another bite.

And the chicken… Well, she was not going to mention this particular aspect of human life to Apple Bloom and Scootaloo in her diary entries, or to Fluttershy when she eventually went home. Chicken was delicious.

There was only one thing that bothered her about the meal, and that was how Miss Selkirk acted. Oh, dinner was great fun with all of the witches and wizards… well, the witches at least willing to show little tricks with their wands for the enthusiastic young student. Mister Dunham quietly ate his porridge without comment, and after pocketing a dinner roll for later, retired to his room for the night, while Mister Weasley had that same nervous smile and facial twitch that Miss Cheerilee, her teacher back in Ponyville got whenever she took her school class on a trip to somewhere with lots of expensive breakables.

The thing was, they all used their wands with much the same casual frequency as an adult unicorn used their magic. All except for Miss Selkirk, who was always bustling around somewhere in the background. Professor McGonagall seemed to notice it too, and took every action to accommodate the middle-aged woman until a card game called Exploding Snap got started, and the professor made her apologies before departing for the evening.

“I’m feeling a little tired too,” said Sweetie with a yawn. “Miss Selkirk, can you show me how to work the bedcovers?”

As excuses went, it was pretty feeble, but the middle-aged witch smiled and took Sweetie upstairs to the storage room they had searched for clothes earlier. They dug a new piece of clothes called a ‘nightshirt’ out of a chest, struggled to figure out which holes got which limbs, and went back to Sweetie’s room to make the bed, but the expression of subdued sorrow on the older witch’s face grew deeper between every giggle. Finally, once Sweetie Belle was sitting in her new bed, she reached up, wrapped her arms around Miss Selkirk, and just held her.

Even though Applejack had told her once that apples were the most honest things about ponies, Pinkie Pie had insisted that a hug, when applied with sufficient intensity and duration, was far superior. Miss Selkirk did not hug back at first, but after a moment she reached around with one arm, then the other, until she tightened her embrace up to nearly Pinkie levels.

The subdued sob caught Sweetie by surprise, as well as the trembling in her arms when Miss Selkirk lowered herself to sit on the bed and wiped her eyes on the sleeves of her plain dress. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “You just seem so much like my daughter.”

“It’s okay to cry,” said Sweetie Belle. “My sister says it’s the best way to get what's on the inside, outside.”

“Thank you.” Miss Selkirk wiped her nose with a tissue. “I don’t know what came over me.” She hesitated halfway through standing up, then sat back down next to Sweetie. “I just want you to be safe at Hogwarts. There were so many deaths there last year. It always was a place of safety for the wizarding world to send their children, and then…”

“Voldemort,” said Sweetie Belle, and a shudder ran down Miss Selkirk’s side. “You and Professor McGonagall said he was dead, and all of his followers hiding or in prison. Right?”

“Yes.” Miss Selkirk tried to smile, although she faltered when Sweetie Belle continued.

“Did your daughter… Did Voldemort kill her too?”

Miss Selkirk nodded slowly. “And my husband. It’s been almost twenty years, back when he first took power, and in some ways it hurts more now than ever.”

After a long period of silence, she stood up and stepped out of the bedroom to go next door, coming back in a few moments with a wand. It was a pale stick, nearly a twig, and just over a foot long including the handle.

“Most wizarding traditions allow wands to be passed down through the generations, as long as they still function. When my husband and our daughter were buried, we broke their wands and left them in the graves. My own heart broke when they died, and I could not bring myself to use my own wand since then. At the time, I thought I might as well be a Muggle. After all, magic took my family away. All I wanted to do was hide from the magical world, so I hid my wand, hid myself, and tried to make a new life running a boarding house.” She gave a wet sniff. “When the first witch showed up, looking for a room, I couldn’t turn her away. Then there was another, and another. Before I knew it, the whole house was nothing but witches and wizards. Then I started providing a meeting place for Hogwarts students and their Muggle friends. And then… now. I’ve never used a wand in all that time, so you might as well use mine. Willow, twelve and three quarters inches long with a veela hair core. Here.”

The wand felt warm to the touch, and Sweetie held it at arm’s length. “You’re giving me your wand?”

“At least you can use it. Go ahead. Give it a wave.” Miss Selkirk put on a forced smile, which faded when Sweetie waved the pale stick around to no effect.

“Does it need to be charged?” asked Sweetie Belle, handing it back over.

“No.” Miss Selkirk held the wand loosely in her hands, turning it over several times before grasping it by the handle and flicking it in Sweetie’s direction. The loose nightshirt promptly tightened up and arranged itself to fit correctly, and the socks which had slipped down over her feet darted back up her chilly legs.

“Guess it’s a little like riding a broomstick.” There was a tremor under one of Miss Selkirk’s eyes, matching the tear trickling down her cheek. She moved to put it into the room’s chest of drawers, only for Sweetie Belle to reach out and touch her on one hip.

“Please. Keep it, at least as long as I’m here.” Sweetie smiled up at her. “Maybe you can show me some magic with it so when I get my own wand, I’ll have some idea how to use it.” A horrible doubt swept over her and Sweetie felt a chill in her chest that the flimsy nightshirt could not stop. It must have been showing in her face too, because Miss Selkirk sat her down on the edge of the bed and slipped the wand up her dress sleeve.

“Every young witch or wizard worries about their first wand. My daughter had to test a dozen wands before she found the one that she liked.” The ghost of a smile crossed the corners of Miss Selkirk’s thin lips. “Or as Mister Ollivander likes to say, the wand chose her. Now, you get some sleep, and we’ll see about some shopping tomorrow.”

Sweetie Belle put on her best plaintive expression. “We’re not buying clothes, are we?”

Miss Selkirk laughed, a welcome release of tension that took years off her tense face and resulted in Sweetie getting another warm hug. “Some clothes are required, my little nudist. Hogwarts is chilly in the winter, and you won’t have your warm unicorn coat to protect you. I promise, we’ll have a good time, and you’ll appreciate it once the snow gets deep in the Hogwarts castle grounds.”

Sweetie particularly appreciated the warm comforter on her bed that evening. Dreams of a serpent-like creature who hissed in the shadows pursued her for quite some time until a familiar darkness swept her up in warm feathered wings and let her truly rest in anticipation of adventures yet to come.

* ♥ *

It was decidedly cold in the bright crystal corridors of the otherworldly Equestrian castle, a chill that exceeded mere temperature, and which would not be dispelled by a wool cloak. Thirty-two unicorns and griffons—each no doubt more experienced and powerful than himself in this world—had vanished down that dark corridor, and he had no idea what happened or where to start looking to keep himself from meeting the same fate.

If ever there was a job doomed to failure, Theodore Nott had it. The only edge he had was time. Certainly, whatever had been lurking in that subterranean vault would wait for a little while longer. By Celestia’s own admittance, it had been two years since King Sombra had been defeated the second time, and nothing too serious had happened so far. A few weeks or even months delay could not hurt while they investigated other, less dangerous places to get information on how the tyrant’s twisted mind ticked.

And if it took him until after his exchange student period was over… he would lose any chance to remove any of the magical artefacts in the hidden vault for his own use. Then again, being fast and dead would keep him from collecting anything but a headstone.

Slow and steady with careful planning was the key to preventing any lethal mistakes. He was not competing against a living opponent, after all. What spells Sombra had laid in defense were static, able to be cofferdamed around, blocked, broken, unwound and unspooled at the leisure of the breaker. Any unexpected results were cause for retreat, not attack. When Granite Peaks had sent more than thirty of the unicorn and griffon spellbreakers into the same area for whatever reason, he had been quite foolish, at least in hindsight.

Still, having the assistance of a disposable flunky for the more dangerous experiments would have been convenient. It was a tempting thought, and although there were several of his fellow Slytherin students who Theodore would have loved to use up in that fashion, he dared not try anything similar here. Since he only had Granite and New Leaf to spend, he would just have to be exceedingly cautious in his exploration instead.

But first, dinner in a world of small horses. Hopefully, he would not wind up dining on hay for his entire time here.

* ♥ *

To be honest, the food was the last thing Theodore Nott noticed. He had thought he was getting used to ponies. There was a lot left for Theodore to learn.

The prim and proper glittering servant pony who guided Theodore and his two unicorn companions into the room had called it the ‘Lesser Western Dining Nook’ while they walked, but when the double-doors had been swept open and the three of them looked inside, there was no ‘lesser’ to be seen. Every surface of the crystal walls was engraved with whirls and scrolls as if some crystalline frost sylphs had brushed every inch with the ice patterns of winter, while the light from the setting sun blazed in through the transparent windows to one side brightly enough that Theodore fumbled his sunglasses out from a pocket.

When he could see again, all he could think about was the chandelier. If it was made out of real diamonds, it was valuable enough to purchase all of Ireland and a few outlying islands. Even if it was merely crystal, the pure value and workmanship… or workponyship in this strange land, was inestimable. Every facet caught the blazing light of the sun and reflected it in pinpoint sharpness to cover the walls in colorful specks of brilliance that drifted slowly with the breeze in a nearly hypnotic fashion until his eyes lowered…

…and he saw her.

Celestia had been a blazing white light of fire and power, able to burn Theodore into ash with the slightest effort but restrained by her will. This pink alicorn was… not. She was love, the unstoppable power that drove the entire human race out of caves and into civilization, the touch that made men into fools and women into goddesses. He could feel the waves of pure adoration pouring off her like water down Victoria Falls, cresting in waves that swept over him until he could drown happily under the pounding torrent. There was no restraint in her love, nothing held back or reserved.

His entrancement lasted only a moment, until Theodore could see a second alicorn sitting on the table, a younger type of the small ponies, with the same big eyes and the largest wings he had seen proportionate to any of them so far. She was adorable in so many ways, and if the portal had still been up, he would have been sorely tempted to steal both of the alicorns away.

The sight of a third pony at the low table, a male unicorn with an open expression and a smile, made any thoughts of alicorn theft evaporate like the dew. There was a sense of steel under that quiet smile, sharp steel that the unicorn would have no qualms about using in defense of the alicorns at his side or any one of the other ponies in the Crystal Empire. The Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt had a similar look, which made Theodore very glad he was on a world far away. This unicorn looked like he would have crossed that cosmic gap and more in order to protect what was his and his alone. Or to bring hellfire and certain retribution if they were harmed.

“Ah, our elusive Mister Nott,” said the unicorn as he rose smoothly to his hooves and began to walk forward. “Princess Celestia told us about you before she had to return to Canterlot on urgent business. I’m Shining Armor, and this is my wife, Cadence, and our daughter, Flurry Heart.”

Theodore nodded back. “Prince Armor, I believe you know Granite Peaks, my instructor, and…” The newly renamed unicorn made no attempt to introduce himself, leaving an awkward gap in the conversation.

“New Leaf,” growled Granite. “Silly name. May we be excused, sir? We have work to do.”

“Oh, no Mister Peaks,” called out the motherly pink alicorn. She scurried out from behind the laden table, leaving the cute little toddler playing with a bowl of what looked like peas. “Come and sit with us for a change. Take one evening off from your tasks so we can get acquainted. You’ve been working yourself to the bone ever since—” Cadence dimmed, the warm flood of love that streamed endlessly off her shifting somehow into something more sympathetic and supportive.

The warm flow washed over Granite Peaks with little effect, other than a faint rise to his ears and shifting of his stance, but it was a weakness, a place to play one power off against another. Royalty was, at least on the surface here, a more potent ally than a magic teacher, and points gained early in a relationship would pay larger dividends later. Theodore only hoped the rules of social behavior were similar in this strange equine world.

“You need a break, sir,” said Theodore in the strongest tone of voice he had used in years. He rested one hand on the back of the grey unicorn, feeling the knots of tense muscles and tendons tremble under his fingers. “If you go back into the tunnels tired and sloppy, you’ll get yourself trapped too, and that won’t do your crew a whit of good. Their Highnesses have offered us the courtesy of their table for the evening, so as your student for the next school year, I advise you to accept their offer.”

For a moment, Theodore thought his teacher was going to bite him. Granite calmed down quickly, though. Heaving a quick breath that hissed out from between his bared teeth, Granite turned back to Princess Cadence and lowered himself down in a slow nod.

“Your Highness. On behalf of my students, we accept your offer.”

Those were about the last words that Granite spoke during the delayed dinner, and New Leaf was similarly reluctant to speak up, leaving Theodore with the unaccustomed task of being the social one of the group. He stuck to it, guiding the conversation through an abbreviated history of the Crystal Empire and what little was known about Sombra intermixed with compliments about the decor and the food.

Far from hay, the vegetables and fruits in the dishes were just as delicious as the fare at Hogwarts, although lacking in any meat. Quantity made up the difference, and Theodore suspected a few weeks of being fed like this would fatten him up despite the lack of pork chops or brisket. Even the salad dishes carried just as many calories in nuts and dressings, making him determined to use a preservation spell to slip some of the more clever creations into his luggage before he went home. If nothing else, his little brother Wycliffe would enjoy them along with tales of the strange place containing so many colorful ponies.

The one thing he was unable to get an angle on was the exact thing he was here to assist with: Sombra’s hidden dark magics. Neither Shining Armor or Princess Cadence had been in the empire during the thousand year banishment, and Cadence gained a nervous twitch whenever anything related slipped into the conversation. A little prodding got a tidbit about how she was far older than she looked, and had spent centuries as a foal in a distant nunnery being cared for as a goddess, but that was as far as it went before the dinner was over, and they all excused themselves for the evening.

Things had not gone anywhere the way that Theodore Nott had expected today. Which in hindsight was not all that bad.

It still made him worry.